Saving Grace
by doctorjohn
Summary: When a young boy is found murdered Nick can't help but become emotionally involved... spoilers for overload...A high T rating for some violence and language...
1. Chapter 1

* * *

It was the end of another long shift, everyone was tired and hoping they would be able to wait out the 10 minutes left on their shift without any new calls. Sara and Catherine had been in court most of the day, while Nick and Warrick worked a jewellery store robbery. As it turned out the perp wasn't exactly the most polished of criminals, and having not thought to wear gloves his prints had been left in the display cases in place of jewellery he snatched. The owner was grateful to have the matter resolved within a few hours and told Warrick and Nick they should come see him for a good deal on a diamond should they ever be unfortunate enough to be roped into a proposal. He'd been divorced four times, seemed more than a little bitter. While Warrick had laughed at the idea of getting married, having just turned 25, he noticed Nick looked deep in thought and took note to ask his buddy how serious things were between him and Sara when they got back to the lab.

As it turned out he never had the chance to grill his friend, they'd travelled to the scene in their own vehicles and when they got back to the break room Sara and Greg where already there, arguing about coffee.

"Come on Greg, I've been up for hours and you know how much I love your extra special coffee."

The plea was laced with shameless batting of eyelashes and a particularly bright sunshine Sidle smile. Greg relented, as he always did, and always would when it came to Sara. He'd entertained a brief crush on her when she first arrived at the lab almost a year ago, and found he still had a warm place for her in his heart, though he knew hers belonged with someone else, someone who would most probably kick his ass if he crossed the line between innocently flirting with her, and out right hitting on her.

"Ok, ok, I give; you can have some of my special brew…anything for you sweetness."

Sara rolled her eyes, while Nick's ears pricked up at the use of the pet name and the conversation he'd been having with Warrick melted into background noise.

"Yo! Greggo, back off-fa my girl."

Nick smiled as he moved closer to Sara, slipping his arm around her waist, before taking her recently acquired mug of coffee in his other hand and sipping on it. She mock glared at him and he returned it with a chaste peck on the cheek as he pulled her closer to him. He could smell his shampoo in her hair, she'd lifted his bottle instead of her own fruity brand when they'd taken a shower together that morning, or was it the morning before. The days had run together, double shifts have that effect.

"So that's all I am huh Nicky…just _your _girl?"

He couldn't help but grin a little as she tried to hide her own smirk, it didn't matter that she sucked her cheeks in a little in a bid to keep a straight face, he could see the smile in her eyes. They always twinkled just a little when she was having fun…he often wondered if anyone else noticed.

"No baby, you're that and so much more"

He smirked as he moved from beside her so he could face her and rest his hands on her hips. Their eyes locked and Nick found himself drawn towards her lips. Both had to resist, lab policy frowned upon co-workers dating and they didn't need Grissom walking in on them in a lip lock. Added to that the look in Sara's eyes told him that if he kissed her now there was a real possibility they'd end up screwing each other on the break room couch. Not an entirely unattractive prospect, but more than likely career suicide.

Warrick's laugh brought them out of each others thoughts.

"That's right smooooth stokes, ham it up for the little lady, you might get lucky"

Sara laughed and Nick relinquished his hold on her to clutch his chest, mocking that Warricks words had wounded him somehow.

Greg joined in the laughter until he spotted Grissom coming their way, deciding then that he should make a discrete exit back to his lab. Grissom made him nervous, and he looked a little pissed right now. They passed in the doorway, Grissom nodding in greeting while Greg responded with a half wave and a quiet hi.

Nick immediately stepped away from Sara, his heart falling a little at seeing Grissom had assignment slips in his hand. The only thing he wanted to do right now was take Sara home and watch her fall asleep in his arms before drifting into a quiet oblivion himself.

Grissom's voice held the same no nonsense tone he often adopted when he was tired and mildly irritated. They knew it was all business when he spoke.

"Alright guys, we got a robbery gone bad in Henderson and a 419 up on Mullholland Drive." He glanced up briefly to see how his csi's were taking the news that their double was heading towards a triple, and felt mildly irked when he caught Sara and Nick exchanging gooey eyed smiles. They probably hadn't even heard him.

"Warrick, you and Sara take the robbery, Cat's gone home, something about Lyndsay and a babysitter, so that leaves Nick, you're with me on the 419, I'll meet you out front in ten minutes." He left as quickly as he'd arrived and Warrick reluctantly pushed himself up from the couch in the corner of the room, while Sara leaned close to Nick's ear, whispering about what she wants to do to him when they get home. He smiles before turning his head and risking a real kiss, drawing her lower lip between his teeth and tugging a little, she moans quietly and wraps her arms round his back to pull him closer to her, parting her lips to allow him to deepen the kiss.

Warrick's chocolaty smooth voice breaks them apart.

"C'mon now Sidle, put Nicky down, you don't know where he's been, and we got work to do."

Nick groans and pushes himself free from her arms, pouting at her before heading towards the door. Warrick chuckles when he catches Sara watching the door until Nick's out of sight.

"Y'know Sar, you really should stop checking out my boys ass every five minutes, you're borderin' on sexual harassment."

"yea yea, whatever Vegas, you're only jealous" she smiles and punches him lightly on the chest as she heads towards the door, calling over her shoulder to let him know she'll be driving.

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	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Grissom and Nick arrived at their scene almost 20 minutes later. The body had been found in the garden of a small run down property, Nick's stomach tightened when he saw a young couple standing on the broken front porch, a slight breeze gently rocking an empty tire swing that hung beside the front door. He knew before they got as far as Detective Chris Cavalier that their 419 was a kid. His instinct was confirmed moments later as Chris approached them, solemn; head bowed slightly, hands clasped together in a semblance of hands in prayer.

When he spoke his voice was low and held a tone not immediately recognisable.

"Mr Campbell and Miss Tench have confirmed that the body is that of their 9 year old son Michael James Campbell junior. He was found in the garden this morning when Annabel, Miss Tench, went outside to check on the dog, she's expecting a litter of pups. She called for Mike senior who came out, checked for a pulse and then called us in. They have one other son, Jesse, six, he slept through the commotion, he's in his room playing right now."

It was clear from the way he talked that he had instantly felt a rapport with the victim's parents and wanted the matter dealt with in a tactful and unobtrusive manner. Nick noticed Chris had a certain softness in his eyes that hadn't ever been there when he'd worked cases with him before. It made his stomach twist once more; it had to be a pretty bad scene to have broken the usually borderline-hostile attitude of the seasoned detective.

When Grissom spoke Nick struggled to follow what was being said. There was something about this one that had left him instantly unsettled and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the tire swing. Perhaps he was just dog tired, or maybe the swing was a welcome diversion from the sobbing woman who clutched her partner like he was the scotch tape holding her world together. Either way, Grissom's words eventually made it to his brain and he headed towards the side of the house where the garden was. He'd begin processing; Grissom would talk to the parents.

The garden was small, hardly a garden really, any grass that had been there was long since scorched by the hot desert sun, leaving a fine powdery dust to coat the ground. A tall tree cast a deep shadow over the small plot, almost completely hiding the small body from Nick's line of sight. Though it was early morning, the tree seemed intent on casting the scene into darkness. Nick clicked his flashlight on before crouching close to the body. Had it not been for the fact that Nick knew he was dead he would have been forgiven for thinking the boy had simply curled up under the tree for a nap. His skin was pale; Nick knew it would be cold if he touched it. Something he knew he couldn't do until super Dave arrived to clear the scene, but that he felt drawn towards. The boy's eyes were closed and his thumb was close to his mouth, like he might have been sucking on it before he died. His dusty blond hair seemed unkempt, though his clothes and body seemed clean, Nick could smell fabric softener, and it seemed to make his mood sink a little lower. He felt his throat constricting, and waited for the familiar feeling of sadness to settle like a brick in his stomach. Dead kids always did a number on him, but this time it felt worse than it ever had.

The shock this time wasn't that the scene was gruesome, there was no visible blood spatter, no rancid smells. No. The trouble with this scene was that it looked so…normal. There was such a hollow feeling of deception. It almost felt better to see obvious death, bullets at close range, rta's. It felt more fair, though no one would ever try to explain why. Perhaps the silent creep of death was just too unnerving. It was easier to think that you'd hear death when he arrived to shake your hand.

He didn't hear Grissom coming, only looking up when a new shadow was cast over the body.

"Hey Gris, how'd it go with the parents?" He held his voice level, though he felt anything but.

"Miss Tench can hardly form a sentence, doesn't remember when she last saw the victim alive, can't seem to remember very much about very much as it happens. Mike senior doesn't want her questioned anymore, seems a little hostile." Grissom punctuated his findings with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Nick turned to face him," grief does strange things to people."

If Grissom heard him, he didn't show it, instead focusing on his own thoughts at the time.

"So, did you find anything probative?"

"Body looks to be pretty clean, fresh clothes, no sign of any obvious trauma, but we'll have to wait until Dave releases the scene to turn him over...kid looks like he's sleeping." Nick had added his second comment without really meaning too. It was an unconscious reaction. Nick often found himself saying things he probably shouldn't. He was a heart on his sleeve kind of guy.

"He's dead Nick."

Grissom's response was curt, probably unnecessarily so. Nick knew he wasn't sleeping, knew a nine year old kid who should have been out playing wasn't going to wake up again, he didn't need Grissom pointing it out to him. He caught the look Grissom threw his way and silently wondered how long it'd be before he was on the receiving end of another, "don't get emotionally involved," speech from his mentor.

Nick sighed quietly before standing up fully to great Dave who was coming towards them, looking nervous, as he usually did. Dave always had a slightly anxious feel about him, he was still green, eager to please, probably destined to fail. He was a lot like Nick in that respect, though neither man would agree with the assessment or make such a connection themselves.

* * *

As it turned out Mikey's whispered death wasn't so quiet as it first appeared. Dave cleared the scene, rolled the body at Grissoms request and started at the deep crimson stain that covered the victims body. Not with a whisper, but with a bang. Nick lifted the kids t-shirt and photographed what appeared at first blush to be an entry wound caused by a small caliber hand gun. The tiny body was littered with numerous bruises of varying size and colour, though no corresponding exit wound was found. It was only after Nick dropped the shirt back over the boys back that he noticed there was no hole in it, the bullet hadn't travelled through the boys clothes into his body. there was no spatter or shell casing immediately evident and it seemed likely that the boy had been redressed and moved.

Grissoms voice remained neutral when he directed Dave to take the body back to the lab, but not to wash it until he arrived. Detective Cavalier was hailed and instructed to have the parents brought to the station for questioning. Something wasn't right. Though Chris was obviously unimpressed with the idea of making the distraught parents feel like criminals he stalked off towards the house muttering under his breath about having a little compassion.

"Nick, go back to the lab, talk to the parents, i'll finish processing the scene here and meet you later to examine the body."

Nick jogged round to the front of the house to catch a ride back to the lab with Chris, he figured Grissom was expecting him to leave him his truck.

The journey was quiet, Chris and Nick had never really seemed to get on, they'd butted heads on a number of occasions, and really had nothing to talk about, or any desire to make any effort to relieve the tension between them. Mike senior and Annabell rode in the back along with their youngest, now their only, son, Jesse. Nick found himself glancing in the rear view mirror. Mike looked out the window, rubbing his still sobbing wife's arm while Jesse kicked at the back of Nicks seat absently. The look in Jesse's eyes troubled Nick, he seemed vacant, though he supposed it wasn't so unusual, the kid had probably just had his first taste of death, bitter at any age, especially so for children. Even so, Nick found it hard to stop looking at the young boy and his eyes remained fixed on him for the remainder of the journey. A fact that didn't go unnoticed by Mike.

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	3. Chapter 3

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When they arrived at the station Nick escorted the couple and their son to the daycare room located on the second floor of the police station. It was a crèche mostly used by police and csi personnel who worked nights and had small children. It wasn't easy to find a sitter who would adapt to their frequently changing work schedules. The facility was run by a small group of social workers and it wasn't unusual for interviewees or suspects' children to be left there for brief periods of time. Jesse would stay here while Mike and Annabel gave formal police statements.

Standing outside the door it was clear that Annabel was reluctant to relinquish her hold on Jesse's small hand. He in turn clung to his mothers leg, sniffling, on the verge of tears.

Nick, recognising the stale mate situation, Annabel unwilling to make Jesse go in...Jesse unwilling to go, crouched to the young boys level and spoke gently.

"Hey buddy…I just got to borrow mom and dad for a little while and then I'll bring them right back. How's that sound huh?"

He was met with silence, save for another quiet sniffle.

"humm…how 'bout I take you in there and we can meet Wendy, she's real nice, and I bet she'll let you pick out a toy to play with." Nick tried again, this time extending his hand towards Jesse.

Jesse looked up shyly before nodding and placing his smaller hand into Nicks. As he straightened to enter the room with Jesse he felt a rough hand grab his wrist. He turned slightly to see what the problem was and was greeted by Mikes steely blue eyes.

"Why don't we just let me do that huh csi Stokes, I've seen the way you been eyein' my boy, reckon you might just want to take a big step back son."

Mikes voice wasn't loud, but quiet, and strong, his grip tightened as if to emphasise the fact that he wasn't fooling around.

Nick immediately dropped Jesse's hand and took a step back from the obviously angry father.

"Look Sir, I'm sorry if there's been some kind of misunderstanding, I'm just trying to get the information I need to catch your sons killer."

"There ain't been no misunderstandin', I think we understand each other just fine." Mike moved to open the door of the nursery, pushing Jesse in before closing the door and taking Annabels hand roughly.

"Lets get these statements made and get back home baby, we need to be puttin' Jesse down for his nap soon isn't that right." It wasn't so much a question, as a statement fact.

Nick followed the couple a little ways behind, a feeling of uneasiness pervading his mind. He called directions quietly to allow Mike to navigate the halls towards the interview room.

Chris was talking to the couple in a hushed tone when Nick caught up with them outside the room. Chris excused himself and gestured for Nick to step to the side out of earshot.

"Hey look Stokes, Mr Campbell says he'd prefer if I collected their statements alone, so, a, if you could just leave me to it that'd be great, ok?" He patted Nicks shoulder gently, making as if he was going to return to the victims parents, halted only by Nicks voice.

"…look man, I know they're probably a little on edge and everything, but Gris asked me to sit in so…" Nick spoke quietly, shrugging at the end of the sentence.

"I don't think you get this Stokes, I don't want you in there and neither do they, you seem to have confused me with someone who gives a damn about your opinion, or that of Dr. Grissom. If you'll just excuse me, I need to talk to a couple of grieving parents. The same parents that you and your boss have seen fit to drag all the way down here a few hours after they found their sons body. I don't have time to argue about this."

Cavaliers body language and tone left no room for argument. Nick ran his hand through his hair before sighing and walking away. As he passed Annabel she offered a quiet thanks before being pulled through the doorway by her partner.

* * *

Having been excluded from taking any part in the interviews Nick returned to the lab and walked slowly towards the morgue, keeping an eye out for Sara, but knowing she probably wouldn't be back for hours.

He entered the morgue to the sounds of what appeared to be a heated argument between Doc Robbins and Dave. Though his ears had picked up the hushed squabble, his eyes were stolen towards the small naked body of Mikey Campbell. He'd been undressed, and appeared to have been washed, despite Grissom's instruction that it shouldn't be until he arrived.

This was in fact the source of the tension between Dave and the senior coroner.

Robbins spun round having heard someone enter the room, seeing that it was Nick he immediately launched into an explanation of the situation.

"Nick, I'm sorry, David neglected to mention until just now that Grissom instructed we wait until he got here to perform the washdown." He spoke rapidly, glaring occasionally at Dave who seemed to be attempting to melt into the grey tiles on the walls.

"It's cool, don't sweat it…could you just…a…could you cover him up with a sheet or somethin', he doesn't need to be left layin' like this."

Nicks sentence was disjointed and Al observed the csi's eyes hadn't left the boy since he'd come into the room. Mikey's eyes had been opened at some point and Nick could feel himself inexplicably drawn towards them, he was in danger of falling into the deep brown orbs. The kid looked so damn sad.

"NICK,…."

Nick jumped slightly and turned to face Robbins.

"Huh?"

Al looked to be sitting somewhere between fatherly concern and impatience, "I said, did David give you an approximation of the time of death yet?"

"umm….no…no…he..umm, he didn't."

"Are you alright Nick?"

"What? Yea, Yea I'm fine, tired."

"It seems that the victim has been dead for around 10 hours, first impressions…he bleed out from the gunshot wound, bullet probably perforated his liver. No exit wound, but if you look closely you can see the bullets lying just under the skin, shouldn't be hard to extract. Lividity is fixed and is consistent with the position in which you found the body, if he was moved it was within an hour of his death. He's in the first stages of rigor, second rigor hasn't set in yet. I'll have more to go on when I open him up. I combed his hair, found some white powder, it's in the envelope over there. Scraped his fingernails, but all there seems to be is dirt.You want to document the body before I get going?"

Nick nodded and reached for the camera the coroner had extended towards him. Taking pictures almost instinctively. The dull flash and whirl of the camera was giving him a headache, he felt nauseous, didn't really see anything through the camera lens, hoped later that his pictures would be worth a damn. He left a little over an hour later, with the camera and Mikey's clothes. He took the brown evidence envelopes Doc. Robbins had collected and a bag containing a small white pill he'd found clutched in Mikey's right hand when the rigor was broken to open it. He'd drop them off at trace on his way to the layout room.

* * *

The clothes didn't give much away, they seemed to be relatively new, thought that in itself wasn't exactly probabtive. Until the autopsy was performed and Grissom got back with the evidence from the scene Nick couldn't do much but wait for his evidence to be processed. He figured he'd grab a coffee and wait for Gris to get back, await further instructions as it where.

* * *

Warrick and Sara got back to the lab after processing the scene of a liquor store robbery. It seemed three gunmen had entered the premises a little after 3 am, raided the cash drawers and bagged some booze before attempting to exit through the storeroom. One of the employees had given a pretty thorough account of how it all went down. The second store worker wasn't doing much talking. 22 year old Sandy Cooper had been seriously wounded when one of the masked men caught a bad case of itchy trigger finger, she was still in surgery at the near-by trauma centre. With most of the evidence they'd collected waiting for trace analysis or ballistics reports, they'd have to wait until next shift to start putting the pieces together more clearly. This left them with a solid ten hours to recuperate from their long shifts before returning to the lab. Warrick called a quick goodbye to Sara before making his way to the parking lot; she made her way to the break room and poured a cup of coffee, yawning noisily before allowing her body to sink into a soft chair beside the break room table. She finished the coffee and glanced at the clock before relocating to a hard chair at the table and opening a file.

An hour later Sara looked up from the case file she'd been reading on the pretence of waiting for Catherine to arrive. She'd found a new sitter for Lynns and would be joining Sara and Warrick on the robbery turned murder. Sara had received word from Desert Palms that Sandy hadn't made it, Catherine would need to be caught up on what they'd found. That wasn't really the reason she was still there though. She'd heard that Nick's 419 had turned out to be a kid and wanted to make sure he was ok before she left for the evening. She closed the file over when she heard him shuffle into the room, she recognised his footsteps, actually she secretly enjoyed listening to them when he padded round the house late at night when he thought she was sleeping. He was a restless sleeper, couldn't quite seem to switch his mind off entirely.

"Hey, I heard you caught a rough case, you doin' ok"

"Yea, sure, just need to grab a cup of coffee. waitin' on Gris to get back"

He looked over to her from his position beside the coffee pot. She quirked her eyebrows and he smirked a little, he was busted, she wasn't buying that he was fine.

He bowed his head a little before talking again.

"I dunno Sar, just something about Mikey's parents, it doesn't seem right…I dunno, I'm probably just bein' paranoid."

She cocked her head a little to see his face properly. He was rubbing the back of his neck. She could tell he was beat, wished she could take him home. Worried that he was already in too deep. He looked up, caught her assessing him. He smiled at her, but she didn't buy it, had grown to know his tells in the few months they'd been dating.

When she spoke he could tell she was trying not to push him, he could hear the concern in her voice and her brow was slightly furrowed. A sure sign she was worrying.

"Mikey?"

"Ah, yea, the a…the kid, the victim." He fumbled over the words, gesturing unnecessarily with his hands. He knew she'd caught him and there was little chance that she'd allow him to get sucked into the case without at least advising him to be objective. He decided to get in there first.

"Look Sar, I know, ok, I know, I'll keep my distance, I'm not gonna make this personal, it's just, I dunno, when I saw him I just…" He didn't know what he "just", didn't know how to finish the sentence, he couldn't explain how he felt so he substituted a real ending with a barely perceptible shrug before moving to rub his neck again.

Sara moved to close the distance between them, slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He looked up at her and she smiled. She knew he was tired, she knew she didn't need to remind him that it wasn't their job to empathize with the victims, and she knew that if she looked deep enough into his eyes she'd see that for some reason she didn't yet know, Michael James Campbell junior had already got him.

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	4. Chapter 4

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It was starting to rain when Grissom finally left the scene, though it did little to ease the heat. He clicked on the radio; they were in the midst of a heat wave…figures.He rolled up his sleeves before pulling away from the curb. He'd found a pretty well preserved footprint beside were the body was found, figured it would have to be Mike seniors to jive with their account of what had happened. More interestingly he'd also found an unused hypodermic needle behind some dying flowers a few feet from the body. Other than that, there really wasn't much to go on. He'd go see Al as soon as he got in, have a look at the body and then hang around to watch the autopsy. He had a feeling he was going to have to keep a close eye on Nick on this one. The young csi had only recently started handling more serious cases, and was already empathising too much for his liking. It didn't do to mix emotions with science. That was probably the reason he hadn't been too thrilled to hear about Sara and Nicks blossoming romance. While he couldn't deny they made each other happy, he often wondered if their relationship wouldn't be detrimental to the lab in some way.

* * *

Grissom found loves young dream in the break room when he returned. He'd logged the evidence and intended to talk to the coroner before calling it a night. Contrary to popular belief, he did actually like to get 8 hours sleep every day.

"Hey Nick, did you talk to the parents"

"…a…no…Chris…he a…he didn't want me to sit in on it."

Nick tried to look apologetic, opened his eyes a little wider to give the impression of a small kicked puppy. Grissom, not being his mother, or a woman who wanted to take him to bed, wasn't impressed.

"I told you to sit in; you should have done as I asked. Look, we need to go to the morgue so that Al and David can start processing the body, so stop doing whatever it is your doing and lets go."

Sara quirked her eyebrows at Nick as if wishing him good luck with the rest of his shift, before pouring the last of her fresh coffee down the sink and making a move towards the door.

"Yea, Gris, actually, they already started the autopsy…they might have something to tell us." Nick fidgeted uneasily, knowing his boss wasn't going to be thrilled at the news.

Grissom's eyes narrowed and he looked over the brim of his glasses in disbelief.

"They started the…never mind, I'll meet you down there"

Grissom bustled out of the room shooting Nick a look of disapproval as he left. It was hardly his fault they'd started without him.

* * *

"Cause of death was as I expected, the victim bleed out from a single bullet wound to the back, I extracted the slug, a 38, from the wound track and sent it up to Bobby."

Doc. Robbins and Grissom had decided to start the autopsy report without Nick. Something that seemed to irritate him more that it probably should have.

"I took note of the large number of bruises on the victims body, at first I put it down to boys being boys, but unfortunately a pattern began to emerge…I sent an SAE kit for processing..."

Nicks eyes darted towards Robbins,

"Wait, what? You think maybe he was…you think someone…I mean are you saying the kid was assaulted before he was killed?"

"I'm saying there are signs that might indicate that there was some sort of sexual assault, possibly prolonged, more than likely it happened on several occasions over a long period of time. I collected what appeared to be semen from the victim's mouth, bruises to his inner thighs and buttocks are also indicative of a sexual assault. In addition to the obvious bruises, I found small abrasions on the inside of his mouth and lips, suggesting…"

The rest of the coroner's summary was lost in the sea of garbled noise rushing through Nick's brain. The ground was moving beneath his feet, he flushed hot while his blood ran cold. His chest constricted and he remembered the only other time he'd felt this way. He'd just turned 12, was on vacation with his family beside a lake. He'd been running along the jetty when his older brother tripped him, he'd hit his head before hitting the water. He was barely conscious, couldn't quite swim. It was one of the only times his dad had ever been there for him, pulled him out, held his hand and told him to take deep breaths. His dad wasn't here now though and he felt sure he was going to drown, could hear the water rushing through his ears.

"…Nick…? Grissom's voice was stern; he obviously wasn't impressed that Nicks mind had momentarily disconnected from his physical body leaving only one still in the room.

"Nick, you need to take this blood to tox, tell them to put a rush on it. I want to know if the kid was sedated, there has to be a reason why he didn't fight back."

Nick barely recognised his own voice when he replied quietly, "He didn't fight back because he knew he couldn't win, there was no fight left."

Grissom chose to ignore the comment and nodded towards the door indicating that Nick should hop to it. He continued to talk to Al about the possibility of getting a DNA match from the small sample of semen found on the victim. They'd send it to Greg, hope they got lucky.

Nick arrived at the toxicology lab with no memory of how he'd gotten there, his head felt light and the lab techs voice seemed somehow distorted, though he managed to send and receive all the vital information. The sample would be processed in the next few hours.

He'd just started to look over Mikey's clothes, moving in autopilot, when Grissom popped his head round the door, told him to call it a night; they'd been up for days and needed fresh eyes with which to process the evidence. Nick wasn't in the mood to argue.

* * *

It was dark when Nick got to his small townhouse. He fumbled with his key, eventually realising that he was using the wrong one. After locating the right key he swung the door open, but left the lights off. There was a full moon and it cast a sliver of light down his hallway. Sara was there. She'd left her shoes neatly under the coat rack. He wondered how she'd gotten in before remembering he'd left his keys at her apartment the last time he'd been there, he was using his spares.

He padded to the kitchen, after kicking off his shoes. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it in the general direction of the washer before pouring himself a glass of ice cold milk and heading towards the back of the house to his bedroom. His door was open, and he could make out Sara's outline even in the darkness. He watched her chest rise and fall until he'd finished his milk then crossed the hall to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take out his contacts.

He undid the belt on his faded jeans; their loose fit caused them to slide down his hips without any intervention. He stepped out of the denims and tossed them onto the chair that sat in the corner of his room, and then slipped quietly into his bed, sliding close to Sara, kissing her gently on the lips before rolling her towards him so her head now rested on his chest. She stirred only to wrap her arms round his waist and murmur something about wanting a goldfish. Nick struggled to fall asleep, he knew he'd be tired the next day if he didn't close his eyes soon, but that was a fact that served only to keep him wider awake. He slept fitfully for a few hours before waking with a jolt and immediately swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He padded into his living room and clicked on the stereo, turning it down low so as not to wake Sara. He bypassed the couch and chose instead to slide his back down the wall so he was sitting on the floor beside his bookcase. He pulled his legs up to his chest, and rested his head on his knees, rocking himself gently to the low buzz of Tom Petty's voice. Apparently he didn't have to," live like a Refugee."

This is how Sara would find him an hour later. She'd woken to find the bed empty, not an unusual thing when staying with Nick; he rarely slept the whole night. She walked over to him quietly, pulling one of his t-shirts over her head to protect her from the early morning chill. She walked to the living room, knowing exactly where she would find him and slid down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest, as he had, and resting her shoulder against his. She rubbed her hand over the back of his head, resting it on his neck before allowing her head to fall onto his shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Nick moved his hand to rest gently on her chest, shifting it only until he felt the gentle rhythm of her heart beneath his palm. Tom reckoned it would all work out eventually. Nick wondered if he was right.

* * *

Note: I don't own Tom Petty or his music, but for your own interest the two songs Nick listens to in this chapter are, "Refugee" and "It'll all Work Out". This chapter takes a pretty dark turn. There's some pretty heavy stuff coming up so I figure I should bump this up to an M, just to be safe. Let me know if i'm being over cautious. Thanks

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	5. Chapter 5

* * *

It had been almost a week since Mikey's body had been discovered. The lab techs had been pretty busy, and the evidence from the case had taken a few days to process. DNA had been backed up following an officer involved shooting so the results from the sperm sample weren't back yet. There was no telling if they'd lead anywhere. The whole case seemed destined to remain unsolved. The whole case centered on half clues and shifting sands.

* * *

As another arduous shift was coming to an end Nick was resolved to checking the boy's clothes, "just once more." He'd processed and re-processed, they were clean, but not new. He'd asked Chris to show them to Annabel, find out if they'd come from the house. He was still waiting for a response.

Grissom had just collected the results from the tox screen and breezed into the layout room with the paper in his hands. He spoke quietly to Nick, measuring his words, hoping Nick would be paying attention and that he wouldn't lose his temper with the young man again.

"It looks as though Mickey had ingested a large amount of LSD a short time before his death. The coroner confirmed that had it not been for the gunshot wound, the levels found in the victim's blood would have been fatal, we're looking for a drug dealer Nicky."

Grissom's voice seemed to light up at the end of his rundown. Nick sighed, this wasn't exactly a lead, Vegas was full of assholes dealing death to kids. He had a feeling there was a quicker way to the truth, but knew even before he suggested it that Grissom wouldn't be on board with it.

"How 'bout screenin' the parents for drugs?"

Grissom sighed, Nick seemed intent on proving that Mike was a bad penny. He felt the desire to remind him that he had to follow the evidence, and so far the evidence suggested that Mike was nothing but a loving parent who was now grieving for his first born son. He decided instead to ignore the suggestion and instead cocked his head slightly in acknowledgement before leaving the room. He needed to see if Mandy had got a hit off the partial print he'd pulled from the syringe he'd found at the side of the house.

She hadn't. The evidence wasn't pointing any florescent arrows towards the perpetrator of the crime. Ballistics didn't add much to the equation either. While Nick had initially been excited to learn that the slug came back with a positive match to a registered weapon, the euphoria was short lived. The registered owner had died several years ago, and had no known relatives. The gun could have found its way into anyone's hands.

The White tablet found in the victims hand was an ecstasy tab, it had an impression of a dove stamped on it, and there was a slight possibility that the supplier would be caught during a stop and search, or a drugs bust, but those kinds of operations took time, might not ever lead anywhere. Nick was beyond frustrated. He couldn't sleep without being catapulted into hellish nightmares. He suffered with lucid dreams he couldn't quite escape from, and often found himself stuck on some kind of railway platform, waiting for reality to arrive, never quite knowing if he was awake or dreaming. Traces of cocaine found in the combings from the victim's hair served only to confirm that they were looking for a connection to a dealer or user of pretty heavy drugs.

The evidence that did come in twisted Nicks mind. While Grissom and Chris were pleased with the progress, for Nick nothing seemed to make sense. While some aspects of the murder were easily reconcilable with a perpetrator who abused or dealt heavy drugs, a child molester who would shoot a kid at point blank range, all this was countered by the gentleness of how the body was found. The kids blood soaked clothes had been changed for fresh ones, newly laundered, and his body had been laid gently beneath a tree, in the shade, close to his house. His thumb had probably even been put into his mouth. Nick had briefly entertained the thought that the parents had killed their own son. Though he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it, Mikey's mother just didn't seem to have it in her, and she had an alibi for the time of the murder anyway.

She spent Thursday evenings each week at her local cribbage club. Mike looked after the boys, insisted she needed a night off in the week. He always had the kids in bed by the time she got home, there were never any problems, though Mikey did at times create a fuss, making it difficult for her to leave him. Mike said he had to learn that his mother wouldn't always be there for him...

* * *

Nicks neck was stuff from bending over the lay out table. He figured he'd go see if Greg had any news on the DNA and strode out of the room. Straight into Mike as luck would have it. Why the hell was this guy always here? It seemed that Mike had taken up residence, lurking behind corners and pestering the csi's for information on the case. Nick sighed loudly and apologised. Catching a glimpse of Sara coming towards him with her arms piled high with case files. He nodded towards her over Mikes shoulder. Mike immediately spinning round to see what was going on, resulting in Sara landing on her ass on the floor and her papers floating like confetti.

Mike squinted down at Sara, while Nick made a move to help pull her to her feet. It was an accident, he understood that these things can happen, but took a deep calming breath all the same. Sara scrambled on the floor collecting papers from around mikes feet, muttering to herself.

She could hear the smirk in Mike's voice when he addressed her.

"Hey baby, while you're down there you wouldn't mind givin' me some lovin, huh?" His lewd comment was laced with a sleazy thrust of his hips in Sara's direction and he moved to stroke her face. He was stopped mid air when Nick laced his fingers around the mans wrist.

"Hey man, why don't you back off before you do something you might regret?"

Sara stood close to the fiery Texan. She struggled between being aroused by Nick's powerful voice and caveman like approach towards the slimy guy hitting on her, and nervousness that he might do something that would cost him his job.

She placed her hand gently on his arm, the tension between the men crackled and their eyes never left each others. Cool blue meeting warm brown. All that was needed was a couple of Stetsons and a little cowboy music. This was turning into one hell of a showdown.

"Nick, baby, let it go ok, let him go, it's fine, I'm fine, lets just go ok."

She tried to keep her voice calm but inhaled sharply when Nick let go of Mike arm, and the "grieving father" made to punch him. Nick was too quick, grabbing Mike roughly and spinning him round, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him against the wall. In the struggle mikes long sleeves had ridden up. Nick hadn't noticed, he was focusing on keeping the man against the wall, and combating the desire to beat the crap out of him. This wasn't how people grieved. This guy was on edge, he was the criminal kind.

Nick leaned close to Mike's ear, speaking in a low voice, all the while struggling to keep Mike securely against the wall.

"Give it up man, calm down and I'll let you go"

"Fuck you cowboy, I'm gonna fuck you up man. I just lost my kid, get the fuck off me"

Mikes angry rant attracted the attention of a couple of the lab security guards, who were now rounding the corner, ready to diffuse the situation. To say Nick was mad was an understatement. This guy was talking about Mikey like he actually gave a damn. He was the stupid asshole who should have been watching over the kid when he was being abused and murdered. He found himself twisting the mans arm a little further than was probably strictly necessary.

Sara's voice brought nick back from the edge before he could take the final step into stupid Ville and nail the guy with a solid right.

"Look at his arm Nick"

"What." Nick wasn't quite following Sara's train of thought.

"His arm, look at his arm."

Nick's eyes widened and he called to one of the guards to come take Mike off his hands.

"Call Cavalier; tell him you need a holding cell for Mike. He's got track marks all over his arms."

Nick glared after Mike as he was lead towards the holding area. His mad dog stare was interrupted by the chirp and vibration of his pager. The DNA results were in. Nick had a feeling he knew were all this was heading, wasn't sure he didn't want to jump off before the next stop.

* * *

Greg's lab was eerily quiet. Grissom must have been in and turned off the music. The silence only added to the sense of foreboding.

"Hey G, you got some results for me man?"

"Yea, actually I do, the DNA I ran isn't in the database, but get this, it turned up a partial match to a Mr Jules Lynch, serving life on death row for the kidnap and murder of 4 women in '95. Profile looks to be a good indicator for a brother or son. I ran him through the database and it kicked up Stanley Lynch. Death row's son. He's in the database in connection with a drugs charge…you think Stan the man could be your man?"

Nick squinted over Greg's shoulder at the monitor now showing a picture of Stanley Lynch. His prints were in the system, he'd have Mandy cross check the partial match from the syringe with this guys prints. The drugs offences stood out and Nick's heart was racing. He fought to remain level headed, couldn't get his hopes up, was terrified they'd crash down again.

"Pull up his address man"

"Whoa…isn't that like a block away from the Vic's house."

Greg spun round in his chair…he'd been addressing an empty lab. Having seen the address Nick had bolted from the room, dialling Cavalier's cell.

"Hey Chris, we got a match from the DNA, big time drug dealer off Mullholland. If he supplies "dad," he might have had access to M…the victim."

Nick ended his call having made arrangements to meet Chris at the address along with Grissom.

Finally. They were going to nail the son of a bitch...

* * *

AN -...humm, little brighter in this chapter, but things aren't set to run smoothly...


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Nick felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he made his way towards the locker rooms to change his shirt and collect his gun from his locker. As he swung the door open he was greeted with the sight of a shirtless Sara Sidle. He whistled and couldn't stop the wide grin that took over his face when she spun round trying to cover herself with what he guessed was her clean shirt.

"Jeeze Nick, you scared the crap out of me."

She moved to pull the shirt over her head as Nick strode towards her. He grabbed her arm gently, effectively preventing her from covering up the lacy red bra she was currently standing in. She searched his eyes, seeing happiness there for the first time in days.

"Something happened with the Campbell case?"

Nicks grin lifted her heart; he was going to be ok. She'd been so worried about him all week. He'd been distant of late. They'd shared a bed, but hadn't slept together since Nick had found out Mikey had been sexually assaulted. She knew it had hit him hard, but wished he could separate their home life from work. She needed him, missed feeling him inside of her, and missed his gentle voice in her ear. She had no way of knowing just how deeply the case had affected him. The change in his mood had been growing more apparent as the days passed and he failed to recognise progress being made. He smiled less, slept less, and talked less. She knew he was having nightmares, but chose not to bring them up, she hoped he would come to her when he was ready. She had resided herself to being the one who sat through the night with him, she was waiting for him to tell her what was going on. It now looked as though the old Nick was back, and she was glad.

"We got a name and an address, me and Gris are about to head over there with Cavalier, we're goin' to get him Sar. It's gong to be over soon"

He looked so hopeful, and yet somehow still tortured. It's going to be over soon…Sara mulled over the words, they seemed strange somehow. The case was hopefully going to be solved soon, but she knew even without asking him that he was talking about something different.

"I'm glad, I've kinda missed you Nicky."

Nick didn't counter by telling her he'd been right there. They both knew he hadn't. He moved instead to take her shirt in his hands and toss it onto the bench behind him. He slid his hands over her hips, propelling her backwards gently until she was pinned against the bay of lockers. She smirked up at him.

"And just what do you think you're doing cowboy? We're on the clock encase you didn't remember."

This fact didn't seem to stop her from looping her arms round his neck and gently brushing her fingers through his short hair.

He grinned again, moving to press his rock hard body against her and dropping his head to kiss her neck, nipping gently, marking his territory. He knew there'd be hell to pay for it later; she wasn't a fan of "hickeys." She pulled him closer to her, moaning when he tugged at her earlobe with his teeth, his hot breath in her ear sending a shiver through her body. He ran his hands over her ribcage, grazing the underside of her breasts with his thumbs. His mouth was now on hers, engaging in hot hungry kisses. They couldn't do this here, the door wasn't locked, they were on the clock, and anyone could walk in on them. Sara struggled to stay level headed as Nick reached one hand round her back, hovering close to the clasp of her bra, while the other headed in the opposite direction to rest on the underside of her right thigh. He rubbed gently up it, making her breath hitch. He could feel the warmth of her body pooling between her legs, wanted nothing more at this moment than to slip his hand down the front of her pants and feel her wet and slick on his fingers.

Her ragged breathing sounded in his ear as he pulled back slightly, becoming painfully aware of his own arousal. He was meeting Grissom in less than 5 minutes, he knew he had to put her down, but fully intended to play with her later.

They broke apart, both concentrating on evening their breathing; Nick inhaled deeply, holding the breath before blowing it out loudly and running his hands through his hair. His eyes never left Sara's body as she pulled her clean shirt over her head and attempted to flatten her hair.

"Are you coming over to my place tonight?" The words were slightly muffled by the fact he was pulling his own dirty shirt off, and changing into a clean one.

"I don't have any clean clothes at your place."

"Hum…yea, you could always just not wear any, I mean I could probably cope with that…" He waggled his eyebrows to emphasise his point, receiving a punch on his shoulder and glare that would have been more effective had her eyes not been twinkling at the sight of his rippling abs.

The two were interrupted when Grissom poked his head round the door,

"Nick, Cavaliers going to follow us over, he's writing up Mike Campbell's discharge papers, we should get going."

Nick spun round, not quite believing what he was hearing,

"Discharge papers, come on Gris, we both know the guys involved in this thing!"

"Look Nick, I know you don't like the guy, but being a drug addict isn't exactly a crime, so technically we have nothing to hold him on."

Nick huffed out a breath, throwing his hands in the air in defeat as Grissom left the room again. He turned back to Sara; she could see the look of defeat in his eyes. He wondered if he'd ever catch a break when it came to Grissom.

"Forget about it, just go get the guy that killed Mikey" She'd used the kids first name instead of simply, "victim", a fact that wasn't unnoticed, or unappreciated by Nick.

"Thanks Sar, I'll see you back at mine right? You still have my keys, I should be back soon, I expect we'll leave Stan in a cell to think things over for the night."

"Yea, I'll be there, as long as clothing's optional."

Her smile and feather light laugh made Nicks mood lift once more. He knew at that moment that she was all he'd ever need. He knew he didn't have to carry it all alone. He smiled to himself when he though about her being the MJ to his Peter Parker. He dipped his head forward to peck her on the lips. And headed out the door, but not without leaving three little words with Sara.

"I love you."

* * *

It was almost sunrise when Grissom and Nick made it to Stanley Lynch's house. Despite having said he'd meet them later, Cavalier was already there, waiting beside his car, squinting into the newly risen sun. He called towards them, resignation in his voice.

"Bad luck guys, there's nobody here. Looks like the guy left in a hurry, someone must have tipped him off, and the place looks to be a mess, like maybe he packed in a hurry." He shrugged and slid his sunglasses on.

Nick was staring at the ground. He felt like an idiot for thinking things would be simple. Since when did Nicky Stokes have anything but sucky luck? He must have been a real son of a bitch in a past life; Karma was obviously a fan of biting his ass in this one.

"What you guys want to do now?" Chris seemed bored somehow.

Grissom gazed at the sky before taking a deep breath, "we'll process the scene I guess. Nick, you take the house, I'll do a quick walk around and then come join you."

Nick headed towards the house, wondering if Sara was curled up on his couch waiting for him to get back. He heard the distant chirp of Grissom's cell phone as he crossed the threshold into the rundown house.

* * *

Grissom flipped open his phone while Chris stood by, listening to half a conversation.

"What...no...yea...ok, look, keep taking photographs, i'll be right over...no...ok, i'll see you in 20 minutes."

Grissom snapped the phone closed and strode towards the Denali before stopping abruptly and turning towards Chris.

"A body was found about an hour ago up in Freemont, they need me to document the development of the insects. It really is a fascinating thing...but Nicks going to need the truck to take the evidence back to the lab...so...I need you to give me a ride?"

Cavalier was less than amused at the idea of being Grissoms chauffeur.

"Look, I understand your predicament, but I really should stay at the scene until my officers arrive."

Grissom sighed.

"Look, detective, I really don't think you understand the importance of this discovery, I need to be there. Nick'll be fine on his own until the uniforms arrive. You cleared the scene right?...ok...so lets go."

Chris shook his head slowly, "ok, but this better not take all day."

* * *

Nick had been processing the house for almost an hour. He was expecting Grissom would be finished outside anytime now and was eager to show him the evidence he'd collected. It looked like they may have found the murder scene. Large pools of blood had been found in 2 areas of the house, and children's blood soaked clothes were in the kitchen. Nick had just moved into what he guessed to be the main bedroom. He was immediately struck by the number of electrical cables all over the walls and floor. He didn't immediately have an explanation for their being here. They all seemed to run into a large walk in closet at the far end of the room. He crouched down to examine the closet floor more closely.

Nick jumped slightly at the sound of the bedroom door opening. He spun round, still crouched in the closet, to ask Grissom what he made of the scramble of cables running across the floor. He barely registered the presence of an unknown man before he felt the metal bat the man held, connect with the side of his head.

Nick toppled forward, his arm outstretched to break his fall. He landed hard, his left arm barely holding him up. The ground was shifting in and out of focus and it seemed as though someone had slowed time down. He managed to fumble for his gun just before the bat connected with his arm, sending him sprawling across the floor onto his back. Pain radiated through his fingers as he reached again for his weapon, managing to unsnap the popper that held his holster closed before a series of hard blows rained down on his chest and ribs, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him careering towards unconsciousness. He tried to curl in on himself to protect his head and ribs from further injury but couldn't quite make it away from his assailant. He was barely aware of the volley of kicks and punches that followed the blows from the bat. He could taste copper in the back of his throat as he struggled in vain to force air back into his lungs. Blood spluttered and gurgled from his mouth as he received a final blow to the head that left him barely gripping the seams of consciousness. He struggled for a few moments, trying in vain to reach for his radio. His eyes blurred and his chest screamed in pain. He tried to scramble to his feet, all thoughts now turning towards his boss. What if Grissom and Chris were both lying injured outside the house. A wave of nausea washed over him as he struggled to his knees. His chest was on fire and he gasped a few ragged breaths before the room flashed crimson and he stumbled and fell towards the ground, darkness enveloping him...


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Sara had fallen asleep waiting for Nick to arrive home. She woke with a stiff neck from having slept with her head on the armrest of Nicks couch. She stretched before glancing at her watch. He should have been home by now. She grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table and dialled his number. It rang off, she didn't leave a voice message, figured they must have decided to interrogate Stan Lynch after all. She headed to the bathroom for a shower, she had to be in work in a few hours but decided she'd go in early and try to catch up with Nick, he'd left her a little hot and bothered earlier and now all she could think about was dragging him into the locker room showers for a little fun.

* * *

Nick had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. He came too with a slow pounding rhythm in his head, like someone was playing a tribal drum inside his skull. His face was slick with blood and his breaths were laboured. He felt the onset of a panic attack and tried to concentrate his mind on staying calm, as he struggled to work out where the hell he was and if there was in fact an elephant sitting on his chest. It felt tight and tingled when he sucked in oxygen. He knew almost instantly that he was nursing a couple of broken ribs; he'd suffered similar injuries during a college football game. It had hurt like hell, but Nick Stokes had always been a stubborn man and had played on regardless. He'd been taught from a young age that Stokes men didn't cry, Stokes men cowboy-ed up, got on with it and kept their mouths shut. It hadn't been easy to be the judges boy, it still wasn't. His father was a hard man to love and seemingly impossible to be loved by.

Nick could feel the sunlight on his eyelids and almost immediately remembered that he was at a crime scene. He tried to force his eyes open, his right eye was almost completely swollen shut, while the combination of the blood that still trickled from a gash in his head and his contact lens caused his eyes to sting. He could feel his lenses scratching his eye with every blink and resolved to pull the damn things out. He jerked his arm towards his face to prise the small films off his eyeballs, immediately regretting the sudden movement. He shook with the pain and felt a cold air wash through him. He instantly threw his arms around himself, as if he could hug the pain away. The blood soaking his face was joined by the salty tears that escaped his eyes of their own volition. All he could think about was the fact that Grissom and Cavalier could be lying somewhere in the house seriously injured. Dying.

"_C'mon Nicky cowboy up man, c'mon, just move, just move."_

His eyes were scrunched tightly closed in a bid to protect himself from further eye injury. He couldn't see anyway, with his lenses having shifted out of place during his assault. He knew he had to take them out before he could even think about doing anything else. He gritted his teeth and prepared himself for the pain before moving his hand slowly towards his face and prying his eyelids open, he moaned as he tried to pull out the offending object, grasping the paper thin lens between his fingers and yanking it. It came away with a sickly slap and Nick immediately moved his arms to cradle his ribs once more. Squeezing his eyes closed, rocking gently. He repeated his new found mantra, _son of a bitch…son of a bitch... _He wasn't sure it was helping, but at least if he was muttering to himself he knew he was still breathing.

He lay still, curled in a ball for almost 20 minutes more before making another move. Time was standing still, he had no idea what was going on. He'd finally psyched himself up enough to attempt to stand. He rolled his body so he was on his knees, still hugging his chest and gasping for breath. He saw his radio flashing just a few feet away and stretched his hand towards it, crying out as the movement stretched his battered muscles. He felt his head spin and sway, as if it wasn't quite attached anymore. When he finally managed to grasp the slim black devise he was panting for breath and dangerously close to falling unconscious once more. He squeezed the talk button and delivered his message in quiet raspy breaths, over and over again, praying that someone would understand the muffled staccato noise and send help.

"CSI stok...es…Mullholand drive…immediate….assiss…assiss….assistance. Officers down…officers down…officers…"

His message finally trailed off as he dipped his head back into the blackness. He kind of liked it there. It was quiet and he couldn't feel any pain.

* * *

Sara arrived at the lab freshly showered and on the look out for Nick. She did a quick tour of the lab but no one had seen him. Spotting Grissom in his office she decided she'd pop her head around the door and get an update on his and Nicks case. At least that way she'd know what to expect when Nick got home.

"Hey Gris, how'd it go with the Mullholand suspect?"

Grissom lifted his head enough to look over his glasses before dropping it to study whatever was in front of him again.

"…nick didn't tell you…the guy had already jumped ship, Chris put a bolo out on him, but he's probably long gone."

Grissom continued to examine what looked to be a beetle. While jotting down notes on a piece of paper.

"Wait, you didn't get the guy…so where's Nick, was he ok, I mean, how'd he react to the guy being AWOL?"

"What? Look Sara, I'm not Nicky's keeper, he's obviously having issues with this case for one reason or another, but it's really not my job to baby-sit him."

Sometimes that man could be so infuriating. Sara opened her mouth to respond, it was probably in her interests that she was cut off before she could tell Grissom exactly what she was thinking. Brass was rushing towards them, red about the face, looking on edge. When Jim Brass was on edge, everyone should be on edge. He was the original unflappable, a seasoned detective with an answer for most things.

"Grissom! Hey Gil, I've been looking all over for you, where the hell have you been?!"

Grissom was about to launch into a diatribe on how he'd gone to study a rare beetle in the early stages of reproduction, but Brass didn't actually care. It was a rhetorical question; he didn't have time for Grissoms answers. He's been in his office filing when the radio call had come through. Nicky was in pretty bad shape by the sounds of it.

"We just got a call from Nick through his radio." Brass threw a sideways glance towards Sara, he wished she wasn't here, could see her already pale complexion drain of all colour, she knew something bad had gone down. Her voice sounded hollow when she spoke, like she'd disconnected from the situation, she needed facts and she needed them now. Something wasn't right.

"Jim, what is it, what's wrong, is he ok, did he find something?"

"Look...a…Sara…we got the call through about 10 minutes ago, I've already sent 2 units over to him and the medics are on their way, but there's a pile up on Freemont street so they could be a while."

Sara didn't speak, couldn't move. It was Grissom that broke the silence.

"What's going on Jim, did Nick get Lynch?"

"Look the call was short, Nick radioed in a call for help, he was requesting assistance…officers down. Who else was with him at the scene?"

Grissom looked bewildered, officers down. He rolled the words round in his head feeling a kind of numbness wash over him. One of his guys was hurt. Who was with him at the scene…who was with him….who was with him?

"Grissom, what are we likely to be dealing with here, how many people were along with Nick at the scene?" Jim was getting impatient; he didn't have time for Grissom's far away pondering stares. He wasn't in the market for another Holly Gribbs.

"Well…a…I was there along with Chris, but we had to go…he was alone Jim."

Brass didn't speak, Sara looked like she might be ready to run to Mullholand just to see what was going on and Grissom stared ahead eyes wide, he opened his mouth before closing it again, thinking, always thinking. Finally he spoke.

"Jim, I need a ride."

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Jim Brass was not a happy man. He and Gil had been close friends for a long time, trusted each other with their lives, but right now he couldn't find the words to describe how pissed off he was at the csi. He gripped the wheel tightly as he racked up traffic violations in order to get to the scene as fast as he could. Nick was a sweet kid, and he willed him to be ok. He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Sara. She hadn't said much since they'd left the lab, only speaking to ask Grissom how long it had been since someone had seen Nick. He didn't know.

Grissom had sat in the passenger's seat looking pensive as always. He was a hard man to read. Rumour had it that he was quite the poker player. He looked out the window on the ride to Mullholand, seemingly avoiding Jim's glares. He knew he'd screwed up. Knew that if Nick wasn't ok it would be on him. He remembered leaving the scene with Chris but couldn't quite recall if he'd told Nick he was going. Remembered Chris had said that he had a couple of uniforms coming by, but didn't quite remember if the call Chris had taken 10 minutes after they'd left had been to inform him that those cops were now engaged in a pursuit across town. He knew he'd left Nick alone, and that the chances were that he was still alone. Gil Grissom was a man who knew a lot of things, but at this moment he felt like he was twisting in the wind, he didn't know how to deal with this. He'd never quite learned how to deal with his emotions so instead he pushed it all down. If he'd stopped to consider it he would realise that the reason he was so hard on Nick was because he found the young man so frustrating. He wasn't afraid like Grissom was. He was like a moth flying around a room, dancing towards the lit light bulb again and again. It gets burned every time, never seems to learn. Grissom watched as Nick poured his soul into every case he worked, watched as he strived for recognition, always trying to please, always bleeding a little of his own blood for the victims. Their job was a thankless one, they always arrived just a little too late to stop the pain, people lied and people hurt, it was a fact of life.

Grissom was stirred from his inner monologue by the bang of a car door. He watched as Sara ran towards the house, Brass in hot pursuit. The units he'd sent had only just arrived and we're preparing to sweep the scene. Brass held tightly to Sara's arms, talking her down, they needed to follow procedure and then she could go to Nick.

The uniforms swept the scene quickly; they knew it was one of their own, two of them knew Nick personally. They cleared each room as they made there way to the back of the house, yelling towards Jim when they located Nick, curled in on himself, barely conscious. Jim ran towards the back of the house with Sara, his stomach dropping when he saw the blood soaked csi struggling to breath. Sara had stopped in her tracks, the sight of the cast off on the walls hypnotising her. It was Grissom who took the uncharacteristic first step towards Nick, checking his pulse and assessing him for injuries. Speaking softly into his ear.

"Nick, it's ok, it's going to be ok, I need you to open your eyes."

Nick groaned and shifted slightly before his eyelids fluttered open. He could barely make out the outline of a figure hovering above him. He tensed, expecting to be pounded again. His body ached and he felt like he might have been floating in a boat on the lake, the gentle rocking making him seasick as waves washed over him.

Brass moved closer, kneeling beside Grissom, who had balled up his jacket to hold against Nicks head wound. He pulled his jacket over his hand and pushed a bloody bat away from Nick's body, it was probably the weapon used to inflict Nick's injuries, and he didn't want any prints that might have been on it to be compromised. He spoke softly, trying to conceal his initial shock.

"Hey kid, looks like you got a pretty nasty whack on the head, just hang tight ok Nicky, we're gonna get you to a hospital in just a little while, a'right."

The seasoned detective was stripped bare, watching Nick's chest rise and fall in painful gasps; he felt the moisture in his eyes as his cool blues met warm browns. He moved closer to hear what Nick was trying to say. His voice was quiet; barely a whisper as he struggled to focus on Jim.

"M'ok…Gris ok?"

"What? Nicky Grissom's fine, he's right here ok, how you feeling kiddo?"

"Chris?" Nicks words were slurred almost beyond recognition and his eyelids fluttered closed like he might pass out again. Brass moved to slip his hand into one of Nicks, squeezing gently.

"Hey Nicky, NICK, you keep your eyes open ok, just keep looking at me kid."

Jim felt Nicks hand seize his own more tightly as he tried to curl into himself further, tightening his arms around his ribs as his eyelids drooped.

"Nick, it's going to be ok, the medics are going to be here soon."

"M'sorry."

"No, you don't be sorry; you just open your eyes and look at me."

Nick prised his eyes open again, he wasn't certain he was in pain anymore, felt numb instead. His usually tan complexion was ghostly white, his skin slick with cold sweat. He thought he could hear sirens in the distance, he wished they weren't so loud, he just wanted to sleep. He was so very sleepy.

* * *

The paramedics arrived a short time later, Nick was unconscious again, they were worried about the possibilities of brain injuries, though the fact he had been talking prior to falling unconscious again was a good sign. They slid his body gently onto the gurney, strapping his left arm carefully against his body having noticed deep bruising indicative of a broken bone. They cut his shirt to attach a monitor to his chest, Jim physically recoiled at seeing the multitude of large purple and red bruises across his chest and abdomen, this guy would be lucky if he only had a few broken ribs. His weak pulse and sweaty demeanour pointed squarely towards internal bleeding. They didn't know how long he'd been down, but knew they needed to get moving quickly.

It wasn't until Nick was being lead towards the ambulance that Sara snapped out of her daze.

"I'm going with him; I want to go with him."

Grissom held her back, but her eyes never left Nick.

"Sara, you need to stay back and process the scene, we still need to collect whatever's left of the evidence from the Campbell case, we'll leave the uniforms here, so you'll be fine."

"What! No, I'm going with Nick, he's hurt Grissom and more than likely scared, I'm not staying here to take photos of blood that spattered from _his _head! I'm not, ok, I'm not doing it Grissom. Find someone else, or better yet, do it yourself and we'll see how you fair against some jumped up druggie with a bat!"

Grissom shrank at the words spilling from Sara's mouth. Did she think he didn't blame himself as it was? He didn't need this. He had enough on his mind.

"Look Sara, I'm your supervisor, ok, so what I say, goes. If you have some kind of problem with that then maybe you _should_ go."

Jim had had enough, Nicky was in trouble and Grissom and Sara had decided to get into some kind of pissing contest.

"Hey, HEY! I'm going with Nick, Sara process the scene. Grissom, you better call Cavalier, get your stories straight, I'm gonna expect some kind of explanation for why a junior csi was left alone at an unsecured crime scene."

Sara opened her mouth to protest, but was beaten to the chase by Jim

"This isn't up for discussion. I'll call when I have news."

* * *

Sara moved slowly through the house, Nick had already bagged a lot of things, but it would be almost impossible to get any admissible evidence. In the eyes of the law the crime scene had been contaminated. She left the room Nick had been attacked in to the end. She'd been there almost 3 hours, and hadn't heard any news about Nick. No news was good news though, right? She followed the cables into the closet just as Nick had done just hours previously; Grissom was hovering in the doorway. He'd called Chris, who had argued that he'd tried to follow correct protocol, but that it was Grissom who had forced him to leave the scene. Whilst the main argument was pretty sound, Grissom _had_ asked for a ride, this fact was unlikely to save Cavalier from disciplinary action, he shouldn't have left an unsecured scene and he knew it.

Sara jumped when she felt an arm rest on her shoulder.

"You ok?" poor choice of words, but Grissom wasn't used to this kind of thing, emotions weren't something he dealt in, he wished Nick was here then instantly felt like a jackass. The reason he wasn't here was because he just got the shit kicked out of him. Grissom's mind was tying itself in knots.

Sara didn't answer, opting for a "what the hell do you think" glare instead.

"Listen, Sara, why don't you take off, drop the evidence back at the lab and head over to the hospital...?"

It wasn't so much of a question as a suggestion, but Sara answered anyway, voice level, tone unmistakable.

"Because I wouldn't abandon my colleague in a house that attracts smack heads and child abusers...it wouldn't exactly be safe now would it?"

Ouch…burn. That one stung. Grissom nodded slowly before moving to the opposite side of the room to begin processing in silence. At times Sara could be downright cruel, though he supposed he couldn't have expected anything else, would more than likely suffer worse at the hands of Catherine when she caught up with him.

* * *

Jim held tightly to Nicks hand as they rode in the ambulance. He slipped in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherent sentences. A recurring theme being the desire for forgiveness. The thrashed slightly on the gurney, repeating the same thing over and over again.

"M'sorry, sorry, sorry, m'sorry dad."

"It's ok Nicky, its ok, you didn't do anything wrong ok, just hang tight."

Jim had no idea what was going on inside Nicks head, but if he needed his dad to tell him it was ok, he was willing to step up and ease the injured mans mind, he'd play the judge, for now.

The ER was busy when they arrived, Nick was rushed towards a room to be assessed, Brass found himself being rushed in the opposite direction, as he was bombarded with questions about allergies and next of kin. He didn't have the answers to most of then. A friendly looking nurse suggested he step outside and call someone who knew a little more about the patient. He called Catherine; she'd be there in 5 minutes. He resolved to stay outside and wait for her, talk her down a little, or have her talk him down; he wasn't sure which of them would be more on edge.

Catherine's car screeched to a halt outside the hospital a short time later, just as the nurse was emerging from the doorway.

"It looks as though there may be some internal bleeding, we're taking your colleague straight in to surgery. It could be a while. Someone will let you know when he's in recovery if you want to wait in chairs."

She smiled sweetly, irritating Brass. He never could understand why doctors and nurses smiled so much when they were giving bad news, it sure as hell didn't make him feel reassured.

* * *

Grissom and Sara had been processing the room in silence, blood had been swabbed, photographs taken, evidence bagged and tagged. At first blush it seemed as though Nick hadn't heard his assailant enter the room and had been knocked unconscious. That would account for why he hadn't drawn his weapon. It hadn't occurred to either csi that the reason his weapon hadn't been drawn was because he didn't perceive the danger, he had no reason to suspect the door was being opened by anyone but Grissom.

Both csi's were tired and angsty. Sara was desperate for news on Nick, while Grissom was desperate to wake from the nightmare he imagined he as living in. He was about to give up processing and go back to the lab when something caught his eye. A small flash of light in the corner of the room, next to the ceiling. He looked closer, shining his pocket flashlight.

"Hey Sara…what do you make of that?"

She followed the beam of light towards the small round object in the corner of the room.

"It looks like a camera…? Do you think whatever happened in this room got recorded? We could have Nick's attacker on film somewhere."

Grissom squinted as he pulled the small camera lens away from the wall. That explained the multitude of wires. He studied it for a moment before allowing a smile to wash over him.

"We could also have Mikey Campbell's murder on camera…"

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Nick had been in surgery for over an hour. The waiting room at the hospital was crammed with cops and csi's. Nick was a well liked guy; he had a lot of people rooting for him. He wouldn't like the attention that was being focused on him, but he really had no choice. News of the attack had filtered through the grapevine and people had been coming and going all night. Warrick and Greg had arrived a short time after Catherine. Warrick was dealing with it all by being royally pissed, Catherine was trying to calm him down, rather than let her own worry turn to fear, and Greg was just being Greg. He was young, seemed younger still in these situations. He never really felt entirely comfortable with the "big kids." He was leaning against a wall tapping out the rhythm of his favourite song with his feet. Tom Petty was right; the waiting really was the hardest part.

Brass was caught somewhere between going out onto the streets and hunting down Stan Lynch so he could personally wring the guys neck, and staying with the rest of his crew waiting for news on Nick. He'd never been a patient man. He didn't want to hang around. He knew Nick would be ok, he had to be, but he wasn't sure he could stand around helplessly. He resolved himself to going back to the lab, he wanted to talk to Cavalier and Grissom, though he knew what was done was done, neither man had intended Nick to get hurt, Jim also knew he couldn't let it all pass by. He also needed to make sure Grissom made a call to Texas. It couldn't be delayed any longer. He said his goodbyes to the assembled cast of law enforcement personnel. He passed Sara in the entrance to the hospital. She looked ready to fall over; the worry was all too evident in her face. She hadn't seen Brass; her mind was solely on Nick. She would have passed by him had he not touched her arm. She was startled by the unanticipated intrusion.

"Brass! How is he, did you hear anything, is he awake, is he ok?"

"Whoa, calm down. He's in surgery…"

"Surgery!"

"Hey, Sara, it's going to be ok, the doctors reckon there might be some internal bleeding, but Nicks a tough kid, he'll be fine."

"Internal bleeding…Jim he was at the scene for hours, who knows how much blood he lost before we got to him. Son of a bitch!"

"Look, it's not going to help Nick to have you all strung out ok? You need to pull it together Sara and be there for him when he wakes up."

"Jim I just…" The sentence never finished, helplessness is the thief of words. It comes slowly in and oftentimes replaces our noise for silent sobs. Such was the case here.

"Hey, I know kid, I know, but it's going to be ok, everything's going to be fine."

Jim pulled her close, holding her while in an uncharacteristic display of emotion she sobbed against his chest. Heaving great breaths before crying what his mother used to call "sore tears." He dropped a gentle kiss onto her head rocking her gently against him. She seemed to snap up just as suddenly as she'd broken down. Pushing herself away and turning her head to dry her eyes, laughing nervously.

"Sorry, I'm a…I dunno…I'm fine, sorry…I should a…I should go to the waiting room I guess."

Jim felt himself becoming misty eyed for the second time in as many hours. Damn, he'd have to get a rain on himself or people would start to think he was a nice guy.

"Yea, you do that; call me if you get any news."

"Sure."

Sara moved to go towards the waiting area, casting a quick glance backwards, calling quietly towards the detective.

"Jim. Thanks."

He just shrugged and smiled before exiting into the cool evening breeze.

* * *

Grissom was tired when he reached the lab, no, he was more than that, he was exhausted. He'd followed the progress of the beetle he'd been called away to attend to with great care, it had left him weary and now he found that he cursed its very existence. He made his way through the lab, detecting an uneasiness that permeated the very walls of the individual workstations. He scarcely made it 5 steps in any one direction without being hounded with enquires after Nicks health.

His first stop would be with Archie. He was curious to know what would be found within the memory of the small camera he had extracted from the wall in the bedroom of the Lynch house, if anything at all. He had managed to deduce that it was some kind of web camera, but he would leave the details to the AV Tech. He was greeted upon entering Archie's office as he had been in every other place he'd passed in the lab.

"Any news on Nick?"

"No. He's still in surgery. I need you to see if you can get anything off this."

Grissom thrust the small devise into the audio vicual techs hand before making a swift retreat. He decided he wanted to be alone and resolved to deliver the various pieces of evidence to the specialist labs without unnecessary delay so as he could go back to his lab and contemplate his actions.

* * *

It wasn't until Grissom eased himself behind his desk with the blinds pulled low that he remembered the necessary call that must be made to Nick's family. Jim had called to remind him that it needed to be done, and now seemed like as good a time as there would ever be. He sighed heavily before picking up the receiver and flipped open Nicks personal file to locate the number. He dialled and waited for what seemed an eternity for an answer.

"Gillian Stokes"

Grissom had been mildly unprepared for talking to Mrs Stokes, in his head the judge had answered the phone and he was quiet for a moment.

"Hello?"

"Mrs Stokes, this is Gil Grissom, I work with Nick in the crime lab."

"Yes, of course, Dr Grissom, Nick never stops talking about you. He really holds you in very high regard. What can I do to help you?"

"Actually I have some bad news regarding Nick."

Hearing the sharp intake of breath from the other side of the phone, Grissom decided he should press on; save the woman begin to think Nick was dead.

"He was involved in an incident earlier this morning, and is currently at Desert Palms receiving treatment for his injuries."

Incident. Yea, that was good. That was a great way to describe leaving the kid alone with a hopped up junkie and a bat.

Far from adopting the emotion of a worried mother that Grissom had expected to hear in her response, Gillian conveyed no emotion at all, instead speaking as if mechanically.

"How bad is it?"

"Well, at this stage I really have very little information. He's in surgery now to repair internal bleeding, he should be out within the next hour or so, hopefully then we'll have something more to go on."

He waited for a response, none was forthcoming.

Grissom imagined the silence on the other end of the phone to be deafening, and then pondered the curious phrase. Deafened by silence. It really was a paradox. Or maybe it wasn't. The silence continued now on both sides. Gillian Stokes catapulted back into the day not so many years ago when she had taken a similar call. Nick had graduated from the police academy a year previously when he and his partner found themselves accidentally caught up in a dispute between rival gangs in a small neighbourhood. Gillian always used the word "accidentally" when recalling the event, her husband preferred "carelessly", while Nick maintained that it was fate that put him there. It could be debated at length whether he referred to fate as having conspired against him to leave him lying in the street clutching his bleeding shoulder, but Nick more than likely called upon the word fate to describe a situation that had placed he and his partner in the position to save a small boy, just turned 2 the previous day. The toddler had chanced to wander into the street as gunfire erupted. Nick had run towards him and plucked him from the path of a bullet, intended for neither of them, but necessarily having to strike one of them. And so that is how it was that Gillian remained silent, lost in thoughts of Nick and his unmistakable ability to court danger. She hoped that if he had been hurt in the line of duty that at least some other family had been spared some degree of pain in turn. She was a Christian woman, believed strongly that the Lord would never give her son more than he could bare, and that if he suffered now it was in a measure he could afford and that he was thus preventing someone else from being overburdened.

Grissom meanwhile continued to ponder the origin of the phrase that had been conjured to his brain. In truth he knew exactly where it had come from and could have extracted the knowledge readily had it not been for the fact that at this moment he was indebted to the distraction that took him far away from thoughts of Nicolas Stokes.

The silence was eventually broken by Gillian who shook from her revere.

"Thank you for contacting me. I'll make enquiries at the hospital and catch the next available flight if it will be prudent to do so."

The detachment in the woman's voice surprised Grissom. He had imagined the great distress such news would cause to a family as close as he envisaged Nicks to be. He hung up the phone and took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose before reclining slightly in his chair and sighing deeply. Wondering what had just happened on the phone. He stayed this way for almost 10 minutes before snapping suddenly upright again and making for the door of his office. The show must go on. There were cases to be solved. In truth he didn't much feel like being left alone with his thoughts.

Grissom gathered the evidence in the layout room. He sent a bag of pills found inside Nick's kit to Hodges to process, though the dove shaped imprint left him with little doubt as to what the result would be. The blood on the child's clothes, as well as swatches of blood taken from carpet and the metal bat where sent to Wendy. One sample would match Nick; Grissom hoped the other was Mikey Campbell's. The bat was covered in prints, leading Grissom to believe whoever used it hadn't been thinking clearly. What kind of idiot leaves the weapon covered in prints beside their victim? The answer could have been someone whose prints weren't in the system of course. Though at times Grissom wondered how many people that actually would have discounted. Either way he sent the print lifts to Mandy, feeling vaguely optimistic.

* * *

Brass had just got of the phone with Sara when he entered the crime lab designing to find Grissom. He'd stopped by the station to find Chris and request he turn in his badge and gun by way of representing a temporary suspension until internal affairs could assess the case and apportion the blame. In these situations there was always a sence that blame should fall at someones feet. Brass worried in this case if it wouldn't fall at Nicks own feet. Sara had sounded tired, but reasonably happy. Nick was in recovery, the surgery had gone well, a small tear in his spleen had been repaired with little difficulty, though it would take time for him to recover from the injury. He was the proud owner of no less than 4 broken and 2 cracked ribs, which were restricting his breathing and more than likely hurt like hell. He had a total of 11 stitches. 7 ran diagonally from middle of his forehead above his right eye to the corner of his eye socket, transecting his eyebrow. The other four closed a split in his cheek just below the same eye. There was a fair amount of swelling, exacerbated by a fractured orbital socket. He was suffering from a pretty heavy concussion and would be monitored closely for other more serious head injuries. All in all it looked like he'd been pretty lucky. His left arm showed only a slight fracture, so it was decided that a cast wouldn't be required. The only real worry the doctors had now was that Nick was yet to stir from his drug induced slumber. He should have been awake 40 minutes ago or less, as the anaesthetic wore off, but had yet shown no inclination that he would rouse soon. This was causing Sara to fear the worst, Catherine to cry, Warrick to descend into new realms of "pissed off" and Greg to continue to tap a gentle rhythm with his foot. He didn't know what else to do.

* * *

Grissom had been hovering around the lab, perhaps avoiding Brass, though if someone had asked him if he was he'd merely have quirked his eyebrow, inferring that the suggestion was too preposterous to be worthy of denial. He jumped a little when he felt his pager vibrate. He wondered if it was news that Nick had woken up. Despite having informed him that his balls were in danger if it turned out that Nicks current state was as a result of tardiness on Grissoms part, Catherine had been keeping him well informed of the situation at the hospital, though had notably given up on trying to persuade him to join them there. He was surprised to see Archie had requested him, and made his way towards the audio visual suite.

Archie looked a little ill. Grissom decided to take a seat. The current atmosphere in the room doing little to ease the tidal wave that was now residing in his stomach.

"What you got Archie?" Straight to the point.

"Well the camera turned out to be a micro-web; it's used as a kind of security system in commercial businesses. It's designed to begin recording information when it detects motion. This one holds about 8 hours of data before it goes back to the start and starts recording over itself again. It's more than likely that it sends a signal to a pc or laptop someplace to let the owner know that something is moving in the house. I'd say that when Nick went into the room he set of the motion detector and that in turn sent a signal to the camera to start rolling and to the owner that he had a guest. Its possible that Nick was watched over the live feed and that the attacker knew he would be alone when he arrived."

Grissom nodded to show he'd followed the bulk of what had been said, before straightening in the chair.

"So, did you get anything off it yet?"

"Yea, well, I've got the picture, but it looks like there's an audio file here too, I just can't open it yet, I'll keep working on it. I've watched up to the point when Nicks attacker enters the room, been working on getting a good freeze frame of his face to send out, but check this out…"

The technician manoeuvred the mouse before clicking rapidly and playing a sequence in slow motion.

"If you watch here, Nick turns round as the door opens, but he hasn't drawn his gun."

Grissom felt like he was missing something. Archie played the clip again, this time slower. That's when it hit Grissom. They'd assumed Nick hadn't heard the attacker approaching, and that that was why he never drew his weapon. The recording now showed clearly that Nick had glanced towards the door even before it was opened. Indicating that he had indeed heard someone there but had still not drawn his weapon.

"This doesn't make sense…why didn't he pull out his gun, radio for backup?"

"Hey, hold on a second, I think I just got sound."

As Archie clicked the screen noise filtered into the otherwise quiet room and clear as day Nick's voice floated towards Grissom's ears and chilled his blood.

_Hey Grissom, what do you make of…_

Archie spun in his chair to face Grissom, an overwhelming desire to state the obvious suddenly overtaking him. Grissom stared at the screen. Mouth slightly open as Archie's words sent the earth off kilter.

"He thought it was you."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Grissom was too tired to get any meaningful work done, but he couldn't quite bring himself to simply go home and sleep. He knew he wouldn't sleep anyway. Archie and he had watched the recording of Nick's assault. The kid hadn't stood a chance, after the first blow he was on his back foot. Archie had caught a pretty good still image of the man and it had been sent to the police department to be circulated amongst the patrol cops. Grissom felt a little uneasy. Nick had fitted in with the cops naturally, was invaluable in the fact that he'd seen crime from the perspective of both a scientist and a cop. Grissom imagined this was why the officers always found it easy to get along with Nick. Now he worried that the mystery man was at risk from a few vigilante cops looking for payback.

The recording showed that Nick had been alone for almost 5 hours before help arrived. Archie had teetered on the edge of his emotions as he watched the footage that showed the brutal attack, and almost more disturbing, Nick's futile attempts to pull himself upright afterwards.

The two men received a further body blow when after a further 40 minutes in which help was administered and the paramedics arrived, the footage switched to show just over an hour of the previous activity that had taken place in the room. If the massive blood pool hadn't been enough to convince them that Mikey had died at the hands of Stan Lynch the 80 minutes of footage which showed the body of the small boy, naked and bloody, being handled callously by a man who seemed to meet Lynch's description, but who's face was never seen, was more than enough to convince them they were looking for the right man.

Grissom felt a little ill, didn't quite know how to proceed since Lynch was still hiding out someplace. He trudged out of the AV lab, muttering a few half instructions to Archie, making his way towards the other labs to see if his results were in. He was disturbed by a shark rap on one of the glass walls. He turned to find Hodges waving a paper in his direction. Grissom sighed. The night could only get longer.

"Hodges? You have something for me?"

Grissom wasn't in the mood for David's antics tonight. That didn't stop the lab tech bringing them out anyway. He launched straight into it. That was one thing about Hodges, always straight for the jugular.

"You know, what happened with Nick probably wasn't really your fault. He's always been a little spacey don't you think…I mean, who just lets someone walk up to them with a bat in their hands. No Grissom, don't feel bad. It's clearly just another case of Nick Stokes being Nick Stokes. Don't you think?"

"Hodges…results?"

David looked slightly bewildered for a moment, then quickly caught up again.

"Oh yea, well, looks like the pills Nick collected match the one found on the victims body."

"Mikey"

"What?"

"The victims name was Mikey"

Grissom didn't know why he'd corrected Hodges, hoped he wouldn't notice. What were the chances?

"Since when are we on first name terms with the dead people?" For a moment Hodges looked genuinely bewildered.

"Just…look just print out a copy of the report and leave it on my desk"

Grissom strode out of the room quickly, with purpose. He pinched the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples. He wondered if he had a migraine coming on, almost hoped he did, since it would give him the excuse he needed to stay away from the hospital and curl up in a dark room, undisturbed. He slid into Wendy's lab, cutting her off before she could finish asking if there was any news on Nick. Didn't these people realise they still had jobs to do?

"You got the results?"

Wendy shot a look of disbelief at Grissom before turning towards a print out lying beside her desk.

"Blood on the bat was Nick's; Blood on the carpet matches Mikey."

"The victim" the words were uttered automatically. The irony completely lost on Grissom. Wendy didn't bother to act dumb. She'd never been one for being deliberately ignorant. She knew calling "the victim", "Mikey" irritated Grissom. It was a Nick thing to do and Grissom sure as hell wasn't Nick.

Grissom now sat in his darkened office. Head resting on his arm, trying to remember the first time he'd met Nick. He couldn't. It seemed like he'd worked with Catherine for a lifetime. Remembered Warrick arriving for his first day at work, looking squeaky clean and like his mother might have dressed him for the occasion, as it happened it had been his grandma. The kid had looked uncomfortable as hell in a tie and Grissom had told him to ditch the suit. He remembered every word of his call asking Sara to come, but as hard as he tried, it seemed like Nick had arrived without a fanfare and had slotted into place seamlessly. He wondered if Catherine had been right when she told him a few weeks ago that he didn't give Nick the credit he deserved, that all he needed was a little encouragement. He'd rolled his eyes. Now he wondered if he shouldn't call the hospital, see how Nick was doing.

* * *

Greg hated hospitals. The smell was weird, the air was heavy and the chairs sucked. He was sure his left butt cheek had fallen asleep as he sat next to Nick's bed, not quite sure why Sara and Warrick had told him to stay with Nick while they went for coffee. It wasn't like Nick knew he was here, in fact, he was almost certain that had Nick been conscious he would have told him to stop watching him sleep.

Nick wasn't sure where he was, but he liked it there. A warm haze covered his body and his mind was light and free. He could smell Sara's perfume, the one he'd bought her when he went to New York for a week of forensics seminars last month. He closed his eyes and breathed in the unmistakable scent, opening them to find he was in his bedroom. Sara was there too, curled up on top of the bed wearing a pair of his running shorts and his old college football jersey. He called to her softly but she didn't stir so he crept around the side of the bed and slid himself behind her, one arm possessively round her waist, the other snaking around her to cup one of her breasts under the shirt. She stirred and turned towards him, first blinking, and then smiling as she shook all thoughts of sleep from her mind. His hair was slightly tousled making him appear younger than he really was. They leaned into each other as he parted her lips with his own and their tongues clashed. They were quickly caught up in the moment and both knew kisses wouldn't satisfy them. Nick made quick work of her clothes, leaving her naked and vulnerable on the bed. He rolled onto his elbow, wearing only his own black boxer briefs. He studied her so intently that she threw her arms across her chest to protect it from his view. He merely took her hands in his and kissed each one lightly before leaning in to catch her lips again. He was lost in her, time didn't seem to exist. His hands roamed over her body, tickling her gently with the tips of his fingers, before allowing his mouth to taste her. He felt her hands on his shoulders now, guiding him onto his back gently. He closed his eyes at her instruction and felt her warm hands kneading him through his boxers. He moaned quietly, sucking in a gasp of air as he felt her slip her hand past his waistband. He was lost in the sensation of her hands on him, could have stayed like this forever.

His bliss was interrupted when the window of the room rattled violently, breaking him from his private heaven, it seemed a storm was brewing. He looked towards Sara, she hated storms, had done since she was a kid. He choked out a straggled cough when he saw that it was no longer Sara that teased him, it was _her. _He'd never forgotten her face, though he wasn't sure he'd ever known her name. He scrambled to free himself from below her as she slid onto him, straddling his hips. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing her to disappear as he struggled to get free, finding her an immovable obstacle. When he opened his eyes she was still there, but the bedclothes were different, spaceships and stars, posters of football players and hand drawn aliens littered the walls. He recognised the room instantly, could see his football trophies just behind her head. He was instantly back there. He was nine years old and full of confusion. He struggled again against his babysitter, but she was so much heavier than him, and she was leaning on him, pressing against his chest. He heard a choked sob, but couldn't tell if it was from his own mouth. He pushed against her, told her he would be good if she just let him up, she was hurting him and he was tired, wanted to just go to sleep. She laughed and continued to rub against him telling him how good he felt. He lashed out against her and felt himself suddenly flipped onto is back, his arm pinned painfully behind him. He was choking on his own tears and felt sure his heart would leave his body it beat so hard against his ribs. He couldn't take a breath anymore and grew light-headed, still struggling in vain to shift the immovable object that kept him pinned to his bed, sweet soaked and terrified. He had tried so hard to be good. Nick felt his lungs tighten, was going to be sick, had to move, had to get up and be somewhere else. He screwed his eyes tightly together and pushed against the now stale air, throwing his body upright. Catching a glimpse of Mikey Campbell as he tumbled forward.

The sudden movement caused Greg to jump to his feet, yelling frantically for someone who would know what to do.

"Sara! Warrick! He's awake!"

Greg was met with Nick's eyes, wide and wild as he struggled to sit upright.

"Nick man, you got to lie back down, you're gonna hurt yourself."

He thrashed on regardless, oblivious to the alarm that was painted on the three faces in the room, oblivious to the sharp burn running through his chest, oblivious even to the light-headedness that attacked him and conspired to lay him flat against the hospital bed once more. His eyes darted wildly around the room, looking for _her_. They finally landed on Sara's face, she'd moved close to his bed and now held his uninjured hand tightly, stroking his head and telling him forcefully to calm down, telling him it was ok. It wasn't ok, how could she think it was ok. Nothing was ok. He choked out a sob and tears ran freely down his cheeks. Sara had become accustomed to his nightmares, but had never dreamed they would have taken hold of him even through unconsciousness. She did as she had learned to do of late and took his hand, pressing it against her chest, whispering in his ear and waiting for the gentle rhythm of her heart to bring him back to her. It took longer than it usually did, but eventually the clouds over his eyes cleared and he sank heavily against his pillows.

"Sar?" His voice was raspy and uncertain, laden with tiredness, or perhaps resignation.

Sara continued to hold his hand and leaned close, trying to position herself so he could see her through his uninjured eye, whilst remaining far enough away that she wasn't invading his space.

"Hey baby, it's ok, you're at the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

He started to shake his head in the negative, but then his mind woke up.

"You get Lynch yet?" His voice was low and seemed to have been forced from his mouth, his good eye sliding closed before snapping open again.

"Nick, don't worry about that now, ok, just concentrate on remembering what happened. Do you need your glasses? I brought them from home"

"Did you get him?" The words were slightly slurred, but everyone heard them.

"Nick..."

"Sar…please, we need to find him…Can't let it go, Mikey needs me."

Nick tried once more to push himself up. This time moaning as he was coated in pain. He was more alert now, his earlier panic subsiding and being quickly replaced with agonising pain.

"Nick, please, just relax, we have it covered ok…Did you see who hit you?"

Sara just wanted him to be ok. He wanted the same thing. It was only their perspective on the situation that was different. He looked so hopelessly lost and confused. He was trying so hard to communicate what it meant to him. Mikey would be his saving grace. If he let the kid rest easy he knew he could lay his own fear and guilt along with him. He longed to feel free from it. In answer to Sara's question he shrugged. Any other questions were silenced when Nicks eyes fluttered closed once more. The strain of speaking a few words leaving him suddenly drained.

* * *

Grissom's pager dragged his thoughts to the present tense. It was Brass. Grissom knew he couldn't avoid the detective forever, but wondered how he could make him feel any worse than he already did. He made his way to the police captain's office slowly, like a small child who knows they have to go to bed, but strings it out anyway. He pushed open the door gently after knocking.

Brass looked up from the paperwork he was studying and motioned with his eyes for Grissom to take a seat. The weary csi complied, falling into the seat more than sitting down. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but shot open upon hearing Brass' voice.

"We got a name on Nick's attacker."

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Sara was sleeping lightly, her head resting on the edge of Nick's hospital bed. Nick had been sleeping soundly for almost 3 hours, though his face was scrunched in obvious pain. His hair was tousled and his face was deathly pale. He'd been drifting in and out of consciousness, a side effect of the concussion he'd sustained. His breathing had eased a little but his arm was still slung protectively against his ribs. Sara was stirred from her dreamless sleep by the vibration of her pager. She straightened in the hard plastic chair she'd been sitting in, an audible pop sounding when she stretched her back like a sleepy cat. She looked towards Nick, he hated when she popped her back like that, but he was still sound asleep. She glanced at the screen of her pager. Grissom. Figured. She sighed deeply before pushing herself up and moving towards the door of the room. She paused to run her hand over Nicks head and dropped a kiss on his forehead. She told him she'd be back soon, despite the fact he probably couldn't hear her. She had barely made it through the hospital doors into the crisp morning air when her cell started ringing.

"Sidle" She answered using her surname more out of habit that anything. Grissom didn't waste time dispensig formalities, launching straight into his piece.

"We just picked up the guy that attacked Nick. We're hoping he can lead us back to lynch. I just thought Nick should know."

Sara didn't even realise how mad she was at Grissom until she heard his voice on the phone. All business. She'd heard that he'd left Nick alone at the scene but Nick had talked her down a little. Telling her it was no big deal, that people processed scenes alone all the time. It was just bad luck. He took the news in his usual manner. Not apportioning blame, just putting it down to his shitty Stokes luck. Grissom could almost feel the heat in Sara's words all the same.

"Oh, so this is something you think he should know! Grissom! He's barely conscious, recovering from surgery, and you think he needs to know that you're going to pick up the punk ass junkie that put him here. You really think he needs to be thinking about the job right now. I suppose you want him to come interview the guy too do you?"

"Look Sara, I know you're worried about Nick, and I know you probably blame me for what happened…"

"Blame you? Who else do you think is to blame? You left him there Gris! Alone. You don't think that you leaving the scene was something that he actually did need to know about?"

"Sara, can you just pass on the message ok. I think he deserves to be kept informed of the situation."

"It's a little late for you to be worried about what Nick deserves."

And that was it. The dial tone sounded in Grissom's ear. He dropped his cell onto his desk and rose wearily to go meet Brass in the interview room. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He'd known Sara long enough to know he couldn't reason with her when she was in this kind of mood. It was best just to let her cool off in her own time. He pushed off the desk and headed out of his dark office.

* * *

Dan Squires had been picked up at his last known address just an hour after his photograph had lead to his identification. He now sat nervously opposite Jim Brass and Gil Grissom. He fidgeted, looked around the room, despite the fact that there was nothing in there to look at. His hair was tousled and his eyes were wide like he might still be rolling on something mind altering. He hadn't spoken yet, neither had either of the other men in the room. It was a Mexican standoff, every man "appreciating" every other. Brass watched Dan, who watched Grissom, who watched Brass. Jim couldn't quite believe that this was the kid who had beaten the hell out of Nick. He was most definitely just a kid, looked no older than 19, was in actual fact just 17, scrawny as hell, but then he guessed you didn't need to be ripped to swing a metal bat into someone's skull. Grissom was caught between watching the suspect with his investigators eye to determine what exactly his game was, and watching Brass to see when he'd find out just how pissed off the seasoned detective was with him. News that Gil had left Nick alone had seeped out of the AV lab and Grissom knew Jim knew. Chris had called him up to tell him about the suspension and to inform him in no uncertain terms that when IA arrived he wouldn't be covering anyone's ass but his own. Grissom half wondered why he'd been allowed to sit in on the interview. Dan...Dan was another story, he had no ulterior motive right now, he was just scared as hell. It was the first time he'd been in a police station. He had no family to sit with him, and since he was still a minor they had to wait for a social worker to arrive before he could be questioned.

Having sat in the interview room for almost an hour without anyone speaking, the pressure seemed to be getting to Dan. Jim kept shuffling clear bags around the table. Bags that contained all the items found on Dan at the time of his arrest. The Kid had finally had all he could take.

"OK man, just, y'know, just like, just tell me what's goin' on man, huh?"

Brass looked up from the spot on the desk he'd been starring at.

"The officer told you when he arrested you why you were being arrested, so just sit there and shut up until the social worker gets here. Unless of course you want to waive the right to be represented by an appropriate adult?"

It was obvious that Dan had spaced out somewhere in the middle of Jim's sentence, checking back in for the ending. Grissom narrowed his eyes and studied the young man sitting opposite him. The suspects voice sounded almost childlike.

"Huh? Yea, yea, that's what I want to do, I want to just, y'know talk or somethin' ok, can we just do that?"

Brass had found an in, and damn if he wasn't going to use it.

"OK Kid, why don't we start with you explaining why you almost killed a member of the LVPD?"

"What? No, I didn't" Dans eyes darted between Grissom and Brass. Had he really hurt the guy that bad? He wasn't going to die was he? Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"We have you on video tape cracking him over the head with a bat, so I reckon we can assume it was you…unless you have a twin brother somewhere we don't know about?"

Jims smile was sardonic, Grissom tapped his arm gently. A kind of "go easy on the kid" tap. Brass glared at the seasoned CSI, a "don't even get me started on you" look.

"No, look, I wasn't trying to kill him, I just, I was just doin' what I was told to do y'know, it was just a mistake, yea, it was an accident. I'm sorry"

Dan fidgeted in his seat, trying in vain to stop tears slipping down his cheeks. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone. He was just following orders.

"Yea, an accident. Figures. So how'd you wind up being so careless? Did Lynch send you to the house?"

Dan's face immediately tightened. His features relaxing to become void of emotion. He didn't want to talk about Stan Lynch. He felt confused and lost. He didn't want to go to jail. He just wanted to go home.

"Hey, Dan, answer the question. Why did you go to the house?"

"I don't know, I just, I went there ok."

"Where's Lynch?"

"Don't know" the answer held a degree of petulance and was accompanied by a small shrug and a long drawn out sigh.

"Dan. The man you beat up is seriously ill in hospital. If he doesn't make it through you're going to be charged with murdering a law enforcement officer and WHEN you get convicted you'll spend the rest of your life in prison. So if you have anything to say that might help you out…now id probably the time to say it."

Silence. Grissom figured he'd give it a shot. Try a new direction with the boy.

"Who killed Mikey Campbell?"

"Who? Look I don't even know anyone called that. I'm just a runner man. I don't do anything that'll hurt no body."

Brass evidently couldn't hold his tongue. Anger radiated off him and he looked ready to tear strips of the kid.

"So what, you carry round a bat to cave people's heads in and you deal death to kids but you don't expect anyone to get hurt. Don't be purposefully naive son."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…I just, Stan said to go get the drugs from his place, said he couldn't go cause the cops were lookin' for him. He said there'd be no one there. I just…I got surprised ok, I didn't want to get in trouble, so I waited till the cops left and went into the house. Figured I could just knock the other guy out and get the drugs and leave. I didn't mean for him to get hurt real bad or nothin'. He's ok right? He's gonna be ok?"

"Where did Stan tell you to take the drugs too?"

"He gave me a list. Told me to get the drugs and deliver them like normal."

Brass shoved an evidence bag towards Squires.

"This the list?" He knew it was, even without the affirmative nod.

"You say you don't know Mikey Campbell, but looks like his daddy's on the list. You deliver drugs to him? Collect money and take it back to Lynch?"

"No…Stan. He has a different arrangement with Mike. He don't pay cash y'know. Stan takes care of that one himself. I don't know how comes he's on the list this week."

"But Stan and Mike know each other."

"Yea."

"Where did you take the cash too?"

"I didn't yet. Look man, please, he'll kill me. Don't make me tell you anything else, please, just, I'm sorry."

Tears streamed down his baby face. He looked so much like a lost soul that it was hard to imagine he'd beaten Nick so hard. Grissom spoke guietly, feeling a sudden empathy with the boy. He was so obviously just a mixed up guy who'd taken the wrong road.

"All we need is the time and place you're meant to meet him."

"Please. I'm sorry, please, just leave me, I can't, He'll get me."

Brass hadn't quite reached empathy and still resided in "tell me what the hell I want to know" land, throwing a little reassurance just because he thought it might help matters

"Just tell us kid. It'll be ok, we'll look after you."

Dan looked into Grissom's eyes, and he knew the right thing to do.

"The old mill up on Highway 61, midnight tomorrow."

Bras nodded and rose from his chair, signalling for a couple of uniforms to take Dan to the holding cells.

* * *

Greg was full of excitement. He'd just heard they were on route to catching up with Stan Lynch and that they had the punk who beat Nick up. He had finished his shift and was headed to the hospital. He brewed up a flask of his Hawaiian blend coffee for Sara. She'd been with Nick since he'd come out of surgery and didn't look to be inclined to leave him anytime soon. He'd give her the coffee and pass on the news that Squires had rolled on his boss. When he arrived at the hospital he barely took time to notice that Nick was awake or that Warrick had arrived just in front of him. Nick looked more alert than he had 24 hours previously, but was haggard none the less. Greg burst through the door of the private room and greeted Sara with the news.

"Hey Sara did you hear Squires rolled over and gave up the meeting point for lynch tomorrow!"

Sara's eyes darted towards a very confused Nick. Who looked questioningly at her. He suddenly felt like he'd been left out of the loop and wasn't in the mood to wait around for too many answers.

"What? Who's Squires? They have Lynch? What the hells going on?"

Greg took on the appearance of a deer caught in the headlights as Sara hung her head a little and Nick tried to stare him out, though with only one good eye the result was a little comical. Greg chose not to laugh.

"What! I thought you knew. Grissom called. He told me you already knew. I thought you knew!"

Greg continued to ramble while Nick tried to catch Sara's eyes.

"Sar?"

"Nick, I just didn't want you to have to deal with this all right now." That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He wanted the answers, he didn't want to be babied.

"They're bringing in lynch?"

"Nick…"

"Will one of you just answer me!"

It was warrick that stepped up to the plate.

"Yea man, they're goin' to pick him up tomorrow evening. The scumbag thinks he's goin' to meet Squires. He's the guy that beat you down man. They have a meeting place arranged to collect the drug money." Warrick hung his head a little lower, shrugging at Sara. What did she want him to do. Nick didn't need to be kept in the dark. Nicks voice was low and urgent when he broke the heavy silence that had fallen on the room.

"I need to see the doctor"

Warrick was immediately on his feet while Sara moved close to him and tried to take his hand. Nick pulled away, refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Shit, Nicky man, you ok bro!"

Nick was swinging his legs out of the bed, arms wrapped around his chest. He continued to push himself onto his shaky legs, stumbling slightly as his vision cleared. Despite protests from the other three people in the room he grabbed a hold of the intravenous line that had been placed in his arm. His eyes were burning. he was a man that wouldn't be turned.

"M' fine. Just need the doc to get my discharge papers. I'm going to be at the interview with Lynch. I'm goin' to nail the son of a bitch"


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

Nick looked like he was ready to fall down. Despite everyone's best efforts to convince him that he needed to be in the hospital, he'd discharged himself "against medical advice" and was now sitting beside Jim Brass and opposite Stanley Lynch. He was trying to hide the pain he was in, but Jim could still see it in his eyes. Wished he could talk some sense into the youngster, but knew it was pointless to tell Nick Stokes to let it go. He didn't know how to let it go. Brass figured he'd let the kid figure it out for himself, be there to catch him if he decided to fall over.

Stan Lynch was sneering at the two men opposite him. He had a certain kind of swagger, even when sitting. He grinned when he was questioned, but chose not to answer. He'd told them he didn't want a lawyer. Despite the evidence that seemed to have stacked up against him he had an easy manner, he was calm, like he knew something they didn't.

Brass had been questioning the man for about 30 minutes. Met each time with silence. He threw a quick glance at Nick, shrugging. You give it a go.

Nick slid a photo of Mikey across the table. His voice was strong when he addressed the confirmed child molester. He felt sick to his stomach. Suddenly realised that checking out of the hospital was a dipshit thing to do.

"Have you ever seen this boy?"

Lynch took in the csi's appearance. Knew that he was the one that Mike had come to blows with. Knew how'd he'd ended up with the bruises that littered his face. Maybe he'd play a little ball with Tex.

"Humm…yea, I think I recall seein' that little'un…" He drew the photograph towards him with only the tips of his fingers, seemingly stroking it, deriving obvious pleasure from it.

Nick immediately snapped the photo back towards him, placing it gently into the case file before snapping the folder closed. He glared at the hulk of a man opposite him. The guy was ripped. Muscles bulged on top of muscles and he must have been over 6'5. He had only one visible tattoo on his right forearm, "_suffer the little children._" Nick wasn't sick anymore, he was angry, he was more than angry, his usually warm brown eyes were dangerously dark, his brow was furrowed and he clenched and unclenched his fists under the table, glad that Brass was sat beside him. Pity help the son of a bitch if he was left alone with him for more than 10 seconds.

Lynch's voice dripped like honey when he spoke, a factor that served only to further piss Nick off.

"Hey now, hey now, why you takin' my picture away, can't we all be friends…share a little."

He grinned showing a row of pearly white teeth, it was clear he'd noticed Nick's body language, and was baiting him. Nick knew it too, ignored the comment and pressed on with the interview.

"I understand you know the victims father, Michael Campbell."

Lynch looked Nick up and down, his tongue in his check, appraising. deciding whether he would answer or not. He figured he would.

"Yea, I know him, ain't a crime to know someone"

"Did you sell him drugs Mr. Lynch?"

He smiled again, barely holding back from a full out grin. He was going to have a blast with this one. Looked like a little puppy, just ready to be shit on.

"Define sell_ Mr. Stokes."_

That did it…

"Hey look man! A kid is dead! I don't have time to get into a pissin' contest with you right now, so why don't you just answer the damn question."

Lynch smirked, and ran his tongue over his teeth. He seemed to be contemplating his next move, while Nick took a calming breath, aware that Grissom was in all likelihood standing just at the other side of the two way mirror putting little black crosses next his name.

"…_money _never changed hands between me and Mike for the supply of drugs"

The implication was obvious.

Nick gripped the edges of the table, his knuckles were white and he could feel tiny spasms run over his spine from holding on so tight. He thought he might be sick, wished he could bolt, he couldn't handle this; he was in too deep, son of a bitch, son of a bitch. The mantra ran through his head. He'd fought so hard to know and now he felt like the dumb ass bitch that opened Pandora's Box. Mother fucker, why the hell couldn't he just have let it go. He fought to break contact with the table, his fingers sore from holding so tight. He picked up the folder again, meaning to terminate the interview and probably run to the nearest bathroom to puke his guts out. The tremors in his hands hadn't stopped and the pictures shook lose from the folder.

Jim's voice cut through the fog that was settling over Nick's concussed brain. He asked the obvious question, the one that Nick wouldn't, couldn't ask, the one he knew the answer too.

"What do you mean money never exchanged hands, how'd he pay you for the drugs?" Brass' voice was level, he'd been here before, he was unflappable, knew the answer, knew better that it had to be on tape in Lynch's own words.

Lynch ignored Jim; he wasn't so much fun to play with as Tex. He made a point of leering at Mikey's picture before directing his attention to Nick once more.

"I bet you was a real sweet little kid huh? Bet you looked real cute with those big ole brown eyes of yours didn't you cowboy."

Nicks only response was to glare across the table at the excuse for a man opposite him, his hands instinctively gripping the table once more, legs bouncing in an unknown rhythm. This was it, he knew he'd taken a chance, he'd directed the conversation to where it now stood, and his only option was to keep going, "He was in blood stepped too far. " That's what Grissom would have said had the situation called for a little Shakespeare. But this wasn't the time for Grissom and his books. This was Nick's time to get the answers and to get the hell away from this thing before he was lost to it. He needed to know how Mikey had ended up dead.

"How'd he pay you?"

"…your daddy ever take you ridin' cowboy?"

"How'd he pay you?"

"Umm-hum…a real happy little kid, weren't you?"

"How'd he pay you!"

"Bet you'd have been real nice to me huh? You would have liked it y'know."

"Why don't you answer the damn question or just shut the hell up, did Mr Campbell pay you using his son!?"

"Hum…you know, I think I finally got it all figured out Mr. Crime Scene Investigator. You think you know how Mikey felt…did you know how he felt Mr Stokes? Do you know how it feels…?

"Shut the fuck up man."

"Well I'll be damned…that's what it is, ha, I knew soon as I saw you, smelled it on, I can feel it on you, you all got that certain look, I can see it…even tell you that it wasn't even a man you pathetic little prick…get screwed up by you' momma? Huh Tex, Huh? Who was it, who…"

The rest of the sentence was drowned by the scrapping of table legs and the bang of a chair as Nick made a grab for Lynch across the table. He'd caught him by the collar on his shirt before he felt a pair of strong arms grabbing at him. He tried to shake them off, he was so focused on getting to the man that he didn't hear the door opening, didn't hear Grissom yelling at him, didn't feel either man pulling him back, all he felt was his heart exploding, rage was coursing through him, shame, dirt, misery. He wanted to kill the man in front of him with his bare hands, wanted to make him pay, wanted for Mikey to have been ok, wanted…he didn't know what he wanted anymore, he felt so damn tired. What he didn't feel was the tears running down his face, didn't know he'd been crying until later. It wasn't until Warrick arrived that he realised what was happening. Brass had dragged a jeering Lynch out of the room while Grissom had struggled along with a uniformed cop, to keep Nick upright and in one place. Grissoms only thought at the time was that Nicky must have been one hell of a football player. He'd shouted to Warrick as he passed by the door, and the added strength of the younger man had finally sated Nick, who seemed to give in quite easily in the end. He'd worn himself out, and now that his rage was gone he wasn't sure he had much else. He pushed himself out of the grip of the three cautious men, wiped at his eyes and stumbled on his feet briefly before pushing past Grissom and bolting to the locker-room. He staggered all the way to the end of the lockers, and sank to his knees, arms wrapped round his burning chest, head rested on his knees. He sobbed like a child, rocking gently in a futile bid to chase away the pain, muttering curse words like a prayer to he didn't know who. Fuck. Thats all he had left. A single word.

Fuck.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Hey, thanks to anyone who has reviewed, and sorry for the delay in updating, I was staying with a friend who had no internet access and so I had to sneak to a library to post the last chapter for fear they would find out I write and tease me merciously...very cloak and dagger...shhh... don't tell. Anyway, thanks again, it's really great to hear some opinions. And now...for your reading (pleasure?)...

* * *

Warrick's first instinct had been to follow Nick, make sure he was ok, ask him what the hell he was playing at. His friend had been uncharacteristically impulsive of late and he desperately wanted to know why. He was stopped in his path by Grissom's hand on his arm.

"Leave him, he needs to cool off."

"What! Gris, he's a mess, he could barely stand, I'm going after him."

"No, Warrick, he needs to work out that he was out of line, and then I'd expect him to come to me and Jim and apologise for his actions. Who knows what's going to happen if Lynch consults a lawyer."

"Is that all you're worried about! The case! Nick could have been killed because of what you did, but that's fine right? It's ok because it was you that screwed up?"

"Warrick, you need to stop before you say something you regret. I should have followed protocol, but that doesn't excuse the fact that Nick crossed the line."

Warrick sighed and let his head drop towards his chest. He really didn't know what to say to Grissom some times.

"My shift ended about 15 minutes ago, so I'm going to clock out and then I'll go find Nicky on my own time."

"If you see him before I do you can let him know he won't be needed in the lab for at least a week."

"You're suspending him!"

"Action has to be taken, and be seen to be taken to protect the lab Warrick. We both know what would happen if Ecklie got involved."

Warrick shook his head and walked towards the door. Grissom just didn't seem to get it sometimes. Nick was a good guy, he deserved better.

* * *

Grissom was walking towards his office. He planned to grab his keys and head home for some rest. He barely made it through the door when Brass knocked and stepped inside. The seasoned detective wore a grim expression and Grissom's heart fell a little. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture, though he suspected one was still coming.

"We need to talk." Straight to the point.

"About what happened with Nick at the scene?"

"About what just happened with Nick during the interview?"

"Oh."

Grissom heaved a sigh of relief; maybe he wasn't going to get lectured on the proper protocol for leaving scenes. He was surprised that Brass didn't sound so stem as he usually did. He'd lost something, his air of calm and control was somehow wavering. When he spoke it was with uncertainty.

"So…you think you should talk to Nick."

"There's no need, I've suspended him."

"What? No, I mean talk about his reaction, about what Lynch said in the interview room"

Grissom stared at Brass blankly, wondering where this was gong. Jim sighed; sometimes he didn't quite believe Grissom was a highly intelligent man.

"About Nick, being…."

"Being what?"

"You don't think that maybe Nick's reaction to what Lynch said was because it could have been true?"

"What? You think Nick was assaulted when he was a child?"

"I'm just saying, maybe you should talk to him. See where his heads at. The kids just out of hospital, by rights he should probably still be there. He's in pretty deep with this case. I just wonder if maybe there's more to it."

Grissom shook his head. Nick couldn't have been, it didn't make sense. In actual fact it made perfect sense, but Grissom wasn't willing to let the thought be entertained in his mind. Instead he switched to his fallback mode and blamed Nick for simply being impulsive and headstrong. He was obviously emotionally invested in the case, but Grissom hoped that it would be wrapped up in the next few days, and that with Nick on suspension he'd have no cause to be involved any further. It would be fine. Nick would be fine. He always was right?

* * *

It took Warrick the best part of half an hour to realise he should have checked the locker room for Nick. He pushed open the door and called in. There was no answer, he pressed on anyway, he had a feeling this was were Nick would be. It kind of stood to reason since he wasn't anywhere else in the lab. He walked to the end of the lockers calling Nicks name as he went. He found him, knees tight to his chest, head down, eyes closed. Looking like shit. He crouched beside his friend shaking his shoulder gently.

"Nick."

No response. The injured man's face was deathly pale, a layer of perspiration coated his face and his shirt was almost saturated in cold sweat, despite the burning temperature of his skin. He shook him again a little harder, calling close to his ear while sliding two fingers onto his neck to feel the thunder drum pulse. This wasn't good.

"Nicky, come on man, just open your eyes a 'right, its ok man, just wake up."

Nick had been unconscious for abort 10 minutes, a combination of his injuries and the sheer exhaustion that had gripped him once the adrenaline burned off. He felt as if his head was stuck in sand. He couldn't breathe and could barely hear his name being called. He just wanted to sleep. Needed to be asleep so he could wake up from it all. He was so damn heart sick. The voice in his ear was persistent and he mumbled an incoherent, leave me the hell alone.

"m'alone"

"Hey, Nicky, it's me, it's Warrick, its ok, just open your eyes for me."

In a rare show of compliance to the voices that permeated his foggy mind Nick prised his eyes open. Could see Warrick's anxious face. He hated that. Hated that he made people make faces like that. The concern, it killed him, he knew he didn't deserve it. He was too tired to alleviate the worry that surrounded his friend, chose instead to let his eyelids slide shut.

"Hey, don't do that, open them, it's ok, I'm gonna get an ambulance, you're burin' up man, shouldn't have left the damn hospital."

Nick wasn't sure how much of Warrick's tirade was meant for him. But the idea of going back to hospital wasn't sitting well. He groaned to himself. Looks like it was time to cowboy up again. He forced his eyes open and looked in the general direction of Warrick.

"M'ok, don't need hospital."

"Yea, no shit Sherlock."

Warrick rested one hand on Nicks shoulder, effectively stopping him from sliding down the lockers onto the floor, while he flipped open his cell phone to call for an ambulance.

"No, man, please. M'ok, no hospital, m'ok, m'ok, it's ok"

In a bid to prove his statement Nick attempted to push himself onto his feet, barely stifling a scream when he put pressure on his broken arm. His stunt in the interview room had left him sore all over. He swayed uncertainly on his feet, bent double by the fire burning in his chest, leaning heavily against the lockers. The tears streaked his cheeks, he was hurting. Warrick saw it and closed the phone. Nick didn't need him adding to his troubles by sending him back to the hospital if he didn't want to go, instead he swallowed his advice and moved closer ho Nick's side, wrapping a supportive arm around his waist and helping him stand straight. Nick leaned involuntarily into Warrick's strong frame, feeling his knees weak. The room was spinning, he felt faint and nauseous. His voice came out in short raspy gasps.

"'Rick… can y'take m'home…please, just need t'go, home."

"OK man, I'm gonna take you back to mine, you can stay there for a while, until you get back on your feet aright?"

Nick shook his head feebly, he didn't want a babysitter, he just wanted to be in his own house, in his own bed, he wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Maybe Sara wasn't still pissed with him for discharging himself, she could come too, they could fall into bed together. She'd look after him, he'd let her.

"Want to go home."

Warrick had started to manoeuvre them towards the back exit to the lab, just beyond the locker room. He figured he'd leave Nick there and bring the car around, rather than have Nick drag himself through the lab.

"I know bro, but you got a pretty heavy concussion, you can't stay on your own."

"Sara…."

Even through his half formed sentences' Warrick knew were his friends head was at.

"I'm not sure man, even your hurt puppy status is going to struggle to get her to stop bein' mad at you. She was pretty pissed that you left the hospital, especially after you blanked her for "withholding information"."

"'Rick, want to go home."

He sounded so defeated, so small and lost. It unsettled Warrick to see his buddy like this. It was hard to believe the same man had been close to nailing a suspect twice his size just an hour ago. Nicky was spent, and Warrick knew it.

"Ok man, how 'bout I swing by my place and pick up some threads, then I'll take you home and spend the night."

Nick managed a smirk, almost made it to a laugh.

"You wanna spend the night huh? I'm not sure I'm up to that sugar."

Warrick didn't reply, just shook his head and laughed. At least there was still some of the old Nick in there.

* * *

Nick fell asleep on the way to his townhouse. Warrick had picked up some clothes and was prepared to stay as long as was needed, but had received a call from Sara who evidently had taken a call from Brass. She said she'd wait at Nicks for them to get back. As Warrick pulled into the driveway he could see her there. He could see she was tired, even in the dim light provided by a nearby streetlamp. She was sitting on the front step with her arms wrapped around herself.

Warrick rolled to a stop and Sara sprang to her feet to join him at his car.

"How is he? Brass said he lost it with the suspect."

"He's beat. I just, I dunno…man, he just never seems to catch a break. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but you know Nick."

"Yea, I do. Lets get him inside, I'll stay here tonight."

Sara's eyes were glassy. The strain of having been with Nick for the last two weeks was beginning to tell. She loved him, that fact was beyond question. But this, this was all just so hard. Nick's struggle for independence was draining and at times she just wished he would let her in, tell her what it was that ate through him during the nights and that he fought off during the days.

"Hey, you ok girl?"

She sniffled and then quickly composed herself. Nick wasn't the only one that cowboy'd up.

"Yea, I'm fine, lets get him in to bed"

* * *

Nick woke with a start, he'd been dreaming, well, he wasn't sure it would be classed as a dream, but then he wasn't entirely sure about how molestation and gun totting psychos ranked in dream terms. He could feel the heart palpitations that usually accompanied these events, but this one felt worse. His head buzzed and the blackness of the room seemed to glow in technicolour, his chest was compressed, he wondered if his ribs had started floating about inside of him. The thought made him sick. He bolted towards the bathroom, miraculously making it there unharmed. He fell to his knees and emptied his stomach again and again until he felt sure he had nothing left inside him. He closed his eyes tight, didn't want to open them, but couldn't bare the images that swirled just beneath his eyelids. She was there, still with him, still on top of him, pushing and licking and nipping and touching. He needed her to not be there. He was a grown man, he could get past this. He jumped when a hand touched him. He backed away from it into the corner of the small bathroom.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, he didn't recognise it as his own and his eyes were blurry, he didn't have his glasses on.

"Please, don't touch me."

Sara moved closer to him, hand extended, she was going to calm him down. She rubbed his bare leg, speaking softly.

"Its ok baby, I'm here, it's just a dream, it's not real."

It was real, it was oh so real.

"Fuck! Please just stop, don't touch me, just leave me alone."

Sara retracted her hand as if she'd touched a hot plate at a restaurant, but by the same token she extended it again with trepidation. You ever wonder why you touch the plate, even after the waitress tells you it's hot. You know you do it, we all do it. Sara does it too. She reached for his hand this time. Hands are neutral, no one minds if you touch their hand. Nick minds, his head is lost in mixed up memories and present tense hurts. He pulls his hands close to himself, and pushes himself back further with his heels. The edge of the bathtub grinds into him, but he doesn't feel it. Fight or flight? He wants to fight, its what he does, he fights, but then the fogs lifting and he's not sure that voice calling him isn't Sara, that the hand that touched him doesn't belong to her too. Fight or flight Nicky?

Sara backs away from him. It's different this time. He wants her to leave, so she'll leave. She makes it to the door before he speaks again. Testing the waters to see if it's really her.

"Sar?"

"Yea Nick, it's me."

"Sar, please, please…" He sounds so desperate.

"It's ok I'm going."

He doesn't want her to go, he wants her to stay and brush her hand over his head and tell him its ok. He wishes he could tell her all this, but he can't, he settles for an apology. He knows he must have freaked her out, hell, he freaked himself out.

"I'm sorry."

She doesn't know what he's sorry for. But she's looking at him now, and his hair is matted to his head and his face is still bruised and swollen, the bruises on his chest have turned deep purple and he's crying though he tries not too. She feels her heart break a little to see him like this, and he evidently feels it too. He reaches his hand towards her and she walks slowly towards him again, extending her own hand to help him off the floor. She leads him back to bed and twines her fingers with his.

Sometimes we just need a little help to get us standing. He mumbles half sentences as they drift off again. It's going to be ok.

"I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up Sar."

"You're not a fuck up Nick. It's ok, just close your eyes."

* * *

Grissom had gone home to sleep after he'd talked with Jim. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been home. His dreams were filled with Nick. The shrill ring of his home telephone woke him, and he reached absently for the receiver. The caller id showed it was Brass.

"Hello?"

"Grissom, I just had a call from Claire Faulkner, Lynch evidently hired an attorney. She's demanding that we drop the charges."

"Because of Nick?"

"No. Because of Greg."

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Sara was surprised to wake up to the sound of Nick singing. She could smell pancakes and rolled herself out of the bed. She found Nick in the kitchen, spatula in hand. A fresh stake of pancakes sitting on the counter. He looked surprisingly refreshed despite the events of the previous night. He grinned when he saw her approach. The swelling on his face had almost entirely subsided, though the deep purple bruises were still visible. He moved towards her, wrapping his arms around her middle and nuzzling his head into her neck.

"Mornin' baby."

"Hey you, you're looking pretty chipper this morning."

"Yea, I feel pretty good."

He ignored the disbelief that was painted over her face and instead chose to back her towards the couch behind them, his mouth latching onto her neck. She moaned as his hands slid under her tank top to cup her breasts. Wrapping her own arms around his neck as he tumbled them onto the couch. She felt his body stiffen as they sank into the soft cushions, and placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away so as to see his face.

"Nicky, you only just got out of hospital; I'm pretty sure physical activity like the kind we're heading towards would do you more harm than good."

He pouted, and dropped his head towards her right ear, nipping at her lobe before whispering his assurances that he was fine. She was pretty sure he was going to be in pain if they walked any further down this road, but what the hell, if Nick Stokes wanted to ravage her on the couch she wasn't sure she was so much inclined to stop him. It was nice to have a lighter mood. He seemed to be getting back to normal. Maybe knowing he couldn't work on the case had chased it from his mind.

After the third half stifled wince Sara rolled them gently so she was straddling his hips, he looked ready to protest but she silenced him with a kiss. He wasn't exactly in any kind of shape to be taking charge, so she figured she'd let him relax a little. She ground her body into his, instantly relishing the heat between their bodies. She could feel him hard between her legs and moved gently to ease his pyjama pants down over his hip to free him from the restraints. He groaned and threw his head against the cushions as she took him in her hands, stroking him softly. He had one arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage; the other was doing its best to divest Sara of her clothing. She looked so beautiful perched on his thighs, naked save for a pair of his boxers. He wanted to make love to her, to chase away the bad memories with good ones.

* * *

Grissom was confused. What did the lab tech have to do with the case? Brass didn't want to talk on the phone, suggested Grissom meet him and Greg at the lab so they could sort through the mess they appeared to be in. After a short journey he arrived and headed straight to Jims office where he was greeted by a very tired Brass and a visibly shaken Greg. The kid looked ready to lose his stomach contents.

"So…does someone want to explain to me what's going on?"

Grissom's eyebrow twitched upwards and his impatience was evident. He glared towards Jim when no one volunteered any information. Brass turned to Greg. He actually felt sorry for the guy, but Grissom needed to know what was going on.

"Lynch's attorney requested her own sample of the DNA that linked Lynch to the case, so as to facilitate the completion of their own tests run by a private lab, as is their entitlement under law."

This was a relatively unusual request, while suspects were at liberty to have evidence against them tested and verified by an outside source not many people actually wanted a swab of semen or a cup of urine. So while the option was exercised infrequently, the lab was still obliged to keep at least half of the sample material to allow for independent verification. It seemed that Lynch had requested the semen collected from Mikey's mouth to have it tested. So far Grissom saw no problem, just give them the sample. He looked at Jim, he was confused, but as the detective raised his eyebrows in Greg's direction, the problem was suddenly oh so clear.

"Greg…you kept half the sample back right?"

It was at this moment Greg lunged towards the waste paper basket and spilled his guts. That would be a no then. Grissom sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This case was turning into one nightmare after another. Why couldn't things just run smoothly, they had their guy, they all knew it, they just couldn't prove it. Grissom took a seat next to Greg. He needed to talk it through, figure out how bad things were for them.

"I don't understand why we have to let him go, I mean the evidence found at his house is more than enough to secure a conviction and there's footage of him with the body of the victim. Even if the DNA is ruled inadmissible we'll still have a good chance of getting a prosecution."

"It's not that simple. Faulkner reckons that the warrant secured to search Lynch's premises was granted based on the DNA match, so by her reckoning everything we found at the house is deemed a fruit of the poison tree. If we didn't have the DNA we wouldn't have had the warrant and so we would never have got the evidence."

Greg papered to have gone into a semi trance like state, while Grissom got more visibly irritated.

"We know this man did it"

Brass remained the voice of reason. While his blood boiled inside his veins at the latest twist, he knew he had to keep things on an even keel.

"Yea…so find a way to prove it without using any of the evidence we've collected so far."

Grissom knew Jim was right, but that wasn't enough to stop him from rounding on a rather pale Greg.

"Why the hell didn't you preserve the other part of the sample Greg, you know better than that."

"look, I…the sample…it was so small, I mean I was lucky even to get a hit off it using the whole thing, I would have had buttkiss if I'd only used half, I just didn't think, I mean no one ever asks for those things. We do it all the time. I thought it would be ok. I'm sorry Gris, I know I screwed up."

"Yea, Greg, you did."

The two locked eyes, Greg's doleful and full of guilt, Grissom's positively blazing. Jim sighted and pondered briefly at how short his long time friend's memory actually was. He didn't want to sit back and watch Greg get rinsed by Grissom, he understood that Greg didn't act on anything but instinct when it came to handling the evidence.

"Hey now, why don't you hold up a minute Gil, Greg made a mistake, but he's not the only one who's slipped up with this case. Don't forget it was you that left Nick at an unsecured crime scene. So just go easy on the kid. There's no point dwelling on it. We still got the interview tape with Lynch alluding to the sexual assault, hopefully we'll get somewhere with that."

"The same tape that has one of our Csi's trying to rip the guys head off. How sympathetic do you reckon a judge will be when they see that?"

The three men looked between each other; the case had really taken a major dive. The silence was interrupted by an announcement over the speakers that there was a visitor in reception for Dr. Grissom.

* * *

After working up their appetites they'd polished off their pancakes and Nick and Sara retired to the couch again. Sara was sitting with Nicks head on her lap, stroking his hair. They didn't speak, just sat together, both lost in their own thoughts. Sara snapped back to the present when Nick started to talk.

"I'm sorry about last night…"

"…no Nick, don't be, it's fine, we all have bad dreams, you've been pretty stressed out lately, and you did just get your ass kicked."

He could hear the smirk in her voice, knew she was trying to put his mind at ease, but the way he saw it there was only one way he could do that. He just needed to compose himself.

"Hey, I did not get my ass kicked... you should see the other guy."

They both laughed, though neither found it all that funny. Sara could sense that he wanted to talk to her about what was bothering him; she didn't want to push him though, so she played along for a while. After a few more minutes they fell silent once more, again retreating into their own minds. Nick was preparing himself to tell her something he'd only ever told one other person. He hoped she wouldn't react as his father had when he found him that night, curled up in a corner, sobbing and scared. He had it all planned out, what he would say to her, how he'd get it out in the open, off his chest and out of his heart. This was why he was almost as shocked as Sara was when the words blurted from his mouth, unbound, raw, unrehearsed.

"I was raped."


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

The silence that followed Nick's statement was crushing the air from his lungs. The air was thick and everything in the world seemed to have stopped in anticipation of his next move. Nick felt like he'd become suspended in some kind of in between, the only thing now moving was his stomach, it was flip flopping and diving like an Olympian chasing gold, while his concussion seemed to have picked this moment to fuck with his head a little. He couldn't do anything, even if he tried. Sara on the other hand felt the earth tip on its axis, the room was spinning and her mind careered towards a cliff edge. Not Nick, never Nick, sweet and beautiful and lovely Nick. She could only conclude with one word, no. This wasn't happening. Nick shifted his head which still rested in her lap, straining his neck so as to see her face. The slight movement drew her eyes towards him and that was all it took. The acid churned in her stomach and she was on her feet in an instant, Nicks head dropping onto the cushions.

"Nick…I….sorry…I just…"

Nick couldn't make out the end of the sentence and watched in bewilderment as Sara dashed down the hall. He only understood what had happened when he heard her retching. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, willing it all too just go away. He'd done what he swore he'd never do again, he'd told someone, and now the woman he loved was heaving over a toilet bowl because being near him made her sick. His mind raced through a million emotions in mere seconds as doubt and angst and anger poured through his veins. He felt like an idiot for thinking she'd be ok with what he was. He was tainted and what was more he'd allowed her to hold him and kiss him, he'd fucked her senseless on more than one occasion, the thought of having allowed her to be with him without ever knowing just how dirty he was proved to be too much for him. He'd made her dirty by association, and now the thought of him, of what they'd done was probably making her ill. He stood on shaky legs, arms wrapped round his middle, shivering despite the oppressive heat. He walked slowly towards his bedroom and got dressed. Sara was still in the bathroom, though she'd obviously emptied all she could from her stomach. He paused briefly outside the door, weighing the silence from the other side, debating whether he should go in and beg her to forgive him for not telling her before, for tricking her into loving him. Instead he walked past, searching for his front door key so he could unlock it and get the hell out of there.

He'd just managed to find the key and was fumbling with the door lock when he felt a hand on his arm. He stopped struggling to get the key to fit in the hole, and rested his head against the door, this palms flat against the wood to either side of his head. He couldn't look round, couldn't bare to see her eyes, full of loathing, disgust.

"What are you doing? Where are you going, Nick, Nick look at me."

She sounded so alarmed that he forced himself to turn towards her, his apology dying on his lips when he saw the tears streaking her face.

"Sar…I…" He didn't know what to say, he didn't have anything. He was barely hanging on, and if he let go now there'd be a long way to fall.

She could see it in his eyes, the deep brown was swirling and she'd have given anything to make them calm, to make him smile. He'd bowed his head now, wouldn't look at her.

"Nicky, baby, it's ok, Nick, it's ok, it's going to be ok."

She moved closer to him, so close he could smell the mint from the toothpaste she'd just used, could feel her hot breath on his skin. He hands reached for his, slipping seamlessly into them, pulling him closer to her.

"You need to stay Nick, so we can talk."

He lifted his head, looked at her briefly before casting his eyes towards the ceiling, biting on his lip. He wasn't going to cry.

"I'm sorry Sar, I'm so sorry."

He needed her to believe him. She didn't understand, what did he have to be sorry about? whatever happened to him wasn't his fault, he shouldn't be sorry.

"Nick?"

"Sar, I just, I tried to stop it, but I was just so little Sara I was such a scrawny little kid, and I love you Sara, God I love you, and I just…please Sara, don't hate me, I didn't mean for it to happen and I let you touch me. Fuck Sara, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Shit Sara, I need to go. I know I make you sick. I'm such a fuck up Sara, everything I do…Jesus!"

His words ran together, his head shaking from side to side, the tears he wasn't going to cry slipping down his face. And just like that Sara understood. Her reaction, born from the disbelief that someone would have abused him in such a vile way, had been mistaken for repulsion. She wasn't repulsed, she was sick at the thought of what Nick had gone through, of what he was going through. She tugged on his hands again, pulling him out of his guilt, she took his right hand and brought it towards her chest, pressing her smaller hand flush against his, spreading his fingers over the hollow between her breasts. He tried to pull away but she held him firm.

"Nick…you feel that? My heart, Nick, It's yours, I love you Nick, you have nothing to be sorry for, look at me. Nick. Look at me baby."

She cupped his face with her other hand, tilting his head towards her. She begged him with her eyes, willed him to believe what she said. His voice was tiny and far away, like a child, his eyes darting between her own.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I love you."

"I don't know what to do…I think I'm dying Sara, I can't get it out of me, I just need it to go away. I need help, I can't do it myself, I'm so damn heartsick. I can't cowboy up anymore."

"So give it to me, I'll carry it for you. Talk to me Nick, let me hold it for a while."

She didn't want to hear the details, could hardly stand that it had happened, but she'd listen and she'd let him get it out. She wondered if he'd ever told anyone, but it was probably obvious from his reaction to the case that he'd never dealt with what had happened. Part of her hated him for it, hated that he "Cowboy'd up" as he would say. He was a stubborn son of a bitch at times, and she realised it was a self destructive attitude to carry.

She walked towards the couch, he followed automatically and they once more sat as they had before he'd dropped the bomb on her. His head on her lap, her fingers racking through his hair, assuring him she was there. She wasn't going anywhere. He told his story as if it was playing out in real time, sometimes dwelling on mundane elements, other times losing the thread of his narrative completely and picking up elsewhere.

"There was a wedding, friends of moms I think. A real big affair, the whole family had been invited to the reception, all my sisters had gotten new dresses and I had a tie. It was blue. I was real excited, but then the vase in the hall broke. My Dad, he was real mad, it was mammas favourite see, the one with the little flowers on it. He sent us to our rooms, said we could come out when someone had confessed, that they would stay home from the party as punishment. I shared a room with Katie; she's only 10 months older than me, so we were always pretty close as kids. She was cryin' so hard, it was just an accident see, and she just wanted to wear her pretty dress. I kinda wanted to wear my tie, but she was so broke up about it. I told dad it was me and since it was late notice he had to call an agency to get a sitter. Mrs Carson was sick or somethin', she was always real nice to us kids, but she couldn't come. She seemed nice at first, she was called Mary. We even tossed a ball around for a while, and then I had to go to bed. When I woke up she was beside me, and her hands, they were in my shorts. She went at me for hours, hurt me real bad. She had to hold me down 'cause I was wriggling so much, but she was so heavy, I couldn't breathe and my arm was twisted up behind my back. I wished I could die. I figured I was bein' punished for lyin' about the vase. I don't remember her leaving, but my dad came to check on me when he got home. He'd brought me a piece of cake. I cried so hard and then he asked me what was wrong and I told him. I couldn't breathe properly and my shoulder hurt. He picked me up in his arms and carried me into Will's room. He was at college, so he wasn't there that night. Dad, he, he put me up in Will's bunk bed and kissed my head and he told me not to talk about it ever again, said I'd break mommas heart, that this was a life lesson and I'd be a better man one day because of it. He told me I needed to cowboy up. In the morning he came back in, lifted me down and took me to the emergency room. Told the doctors I'd fallen out of a bunk, I wasn't being careful. I had three broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He told me to forget it ever happened, but I can't. I think I hate him Sara. I know I shouldn't...but I really think I do. "

Sara wiped at the tears that ran down her pale cheeks, then dropped her head to kiss Nick's forehead. His eyelids were heavy, his energy was sapped and he closed his eyes, speaking softly after a while to break the silence.

"I'm tired Sara."

"Just go to sleep baby, I'll look after it all for you. I've got you."

Sara's voice was cracked. She didn't know what to do, so she slid down in the couch beside him and wrapped her arms round him, resting her head on his chest, allowing the gentle thump of his heart to send her to sleep.

Everything would be better tomorrow.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

Grissom pushed himself out of his chair in Brass' office and trudged towards reception to see who was waiting for him. He caught sight of a middle aged couple standing just off to the side of Judy's desk, looking somewhere between concerned and irritated. Judy nodded in their direction when Grissom approached. Did she think he couldn't see them? Gilbert Grissom was not in a good mood. Nick was apparently a loose cannon, Greg was making them all look like incompetent idiots and the case had gone well and truly up shit creek, and unsurprisingly he was without paddle. He didn't care who these people were, just knew instinctively that they would make his already miserable life a little more so.

They turned towards him upon hearing the footsteps approaching. The well dressed man reached his hand towards Grissom, making to shake it. Grissom looked at it like it might explode. He didn't like to touch people, why didn't they understand that. He nodded towards the man, who looked slightly bewildered at the reaction.

"I'm William Stokes, this is my wife Jillian, and can I assume you are Doctor Gilbert Grissom?"

"Yes, you can, and Grissom will be fine, I'm not much into formalities. How can I help you Mr Stokes?"

"Actually, it's Judge Stokes. I'm here to see what kind of mess my boy has got himself into, but I've been informed that he isn't here at present. Can you tell me where I might find him?"

The judges tone was clipped, upon first impressions it was clear he was a no nonsense kind of man. In stark contrast his wife remained standing just off to his right, she hadn't spoken yet, but the worry in her eyes was laid bare. Grissom was thrown of balance upon meeting Nick's father for the first time; he couldn't immediately reconcile the two men as being in any way related. He supposed Nick must take after his mother. Though in reality he was as much of one as the other. There in lay the crux. The competition between his raw emotions, so much like his mother, and the expectation to be independent and beyond hurt that his father had of both the Stokes men. Nick's brother had always done a better job of pleasing him; a factor which served only to highlight Nick's perceived short comings.

Grissom was somehow unsettled by the man in front of him. He'd come to see what kind of mess Nick had gotten into? His son had been beaten to a pulp, but somehow Grissom got the impression that Nick was going to be the villain of this piece, and so in an uncharacteristic move, perhaps born from guilt, but more likely out of his deeply repressed concern for Nick as his youngest "son," Grissom went to bat for Nicky.

"My apologies Judge. I assume Nick's at home. He was badly injured when he was attacked at a crime scene a few days ago. He's taken a few days off work to recover."

Not strictly true…but Grissom wasn't about to tell the man in front of him that Nick had been suspended. He felt like he was already telling tales on a kid who was going to get an ass whippin' from his father. Although designed to encourage a little compassion in the severe man, Grissom's words seemed to take on a new meaning when they entered the judge's brain, and it was evident from the slight cringe from Jillian that she knew her husband well enough to know Grissom had said the wrong thing.

"Taken a few days off because he got a bump to the head? Didn't he have a service piece strapped to his hip? Even the uneducated criminals of this world can figure out how to fire a gun, Nicks injury was evidently a product of his own ineptitude and should therefore serve as a reminder that if he fails to protect himself there will be no one else to do it for him. I imagined he especially would be aware of the consequences of inaction in the face of danger, obviously I was wrong. Can you give me his address, Jillian would like to visit him, no doubt to molly coddle him."

His tirade was punctuated with a glace towards his wife.

"Well, actually I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose Nick's personal details, I'm sure you understand the necessity of confidentiality, Judge."

The momentary triumph of seemingly getting one up on the obnoxious man opposite him was short lived. Jim had just come to the front desk and was now instructing Judy to call Nick and tell him to come into the lab so he could explain the situation with Lynch. The detective though Nick had a right to know, despite the fact he'd been suspended. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd had that Nick had in fact suffered as Lynch had intimated. He just wanted to give Nick a break; he didn't deserve to find out what had happened through the lab grapevine. Brass accepted the fact that the lab had screwed up and that they must now bear out the consequences, but he also knew it would have consequences for nick emotionally and was willing to shoulder the burden of delivering the news.

The judge smiled at Grissom before taking his wife's hand and leading her towards the chairs opposite the receptionist's desk.

"I trust you'll have no problems with us waiting here to see our son Doctor Grissom."

* * *

Sara was stirred from her fitful sleep by the shrill buzz of Nick's house phone. She stretched her achy muscles and reached for it. Nick had somehow managed to sleep through it and lay motionless beside her on the small couch. A weight had been lifted from his mind and this was the first time he'd slept well in weeks.

Sara spoke softly as to avoid disturbing Nick.

"Hello."

"Sara? It's Jim, is Nick there?"

"Ah, yea, actually he's sleeping. Tell me you have some good news Jim."

"Not exactly…can you get him for me?"

"Sure, just a minute."

Sara set the receiver on the coffee table and shook Nick gently, whispering in his ear.

"Nicky, baby, wake up."

"Mummmph"

She grinned a little at the unintelligible response and shook him harder. His eyes opened wearily.

"Hey"

"Hey yourself. Jim's on the phone says he needs to talk to you."

Nick groaned and reached for the phone, hissing slightly as he jostled his battered ribs. Sara dropped a kiss on his head and made her way to the bathroom to freshen herself up. She heard the bang of the phone hitting the wall moments later and hurried back towards the living room to find Nick sitting, hunched over, head in his hands. She looked at the remnants of the phone, lying in pieces at the far side of the wall, then to him. He glanced towards her shrugging.

"They're letting him go."

Just when he thought it was safe to get back in the water...

* * *

Nicks father had quickly gotten bored of waiting for his son to arrive at the lab, muttering something about Nicks tardiness he rose to his feet and thrust his hand towards Jillian.

"We'll go back to the hotel. We'll leave a message for him to call us, or we can come back later and see if he's managed to drag himself out of his bed."

"Bill, please, he's not well, can't you just show him a little understanding."

"You know as well as I do that Nick will always be a disappointment, the sooner you realise it and let him go Jilly, the better it will be for all of us."

That was that. He started towards the exit, leaving Jillian with no choice but to follow him.

* * *

Nick wasn't sure how many traffic violations he was clocking up on his way to the lab. Sara had begged him not to go, told him there was nothing he could do about it. A reasonable, rational Nick stokes would have known this was true and would probably have stayed with her and the promise of an afternoon in bed, but the Nick Stokes of today wouldn't believe it till he saw it. How could they possibly let this man go? They knew he had done it. The legal system really was fucked up sometimes. He arrived at reception to hear that his father was in town. Karma really was a bitch sometimes, he wondered if it was dump on Nick month and no one had told him. He crumpled up the piece of paper the number was written on and tossed it in the trash can on his way to Brass' office. Not today Judge, not calling today to hear that I'm a fuck up. I already know it.

* * *

"You're free to go Mr Lynch; we'll be in touch if we have any further questions."

Nick looked on from the observation room, stunned that Grissom was telling the guy he was free to go. He'd practically confessed to killing Mikey, his DNA confirmed he was a rapist and child molester and he'd openly admitted dealing drugs. What the hell was he doing? He stared through the one way mirror wishing he could reach through the glass and smack Grissom upside the head, though knowing that it probably wasn't a sensible thing to do, and that one false move at this point would see him sitting on the sidelines for more than just a week. At times like this he felt that the older CSI was performing some kind of fatherly role, ready to busy himself with other more important business when his son needed him, but always on hand to ground you and revoke your privileges when _you _fucked up. He was too angry to realise that it wasn't Grissoms decision, but right now it felt better to have someone to blame. He almost walked right into Greg when he stormed out the door from the observation room. The lab tech looked nervous; he assumed Nick knew it was his fault the guy was walking.

"Ah, hey Nick, how you feeling after the…y'know…after what happened…at the house?"

Nick looked into Greg's eyes, knew the kid must feel pretty bad about everything, but he didn't have room for compassion right now. He liked Greg, but right now he couldn't bear to look at him. He shook his head at the younger man.

"Just leave it G. I can't do this right now."

Greg nodded sharply and stood straight like a soldier at attention. He understood.

Nick could see Mike Campbell and Annabell standing just outside Brass' office. The son of a bitch was actually putting on a pretty good show at being pissed off. His supplier, the man he'd pimped his son too was a free man, he didn't give a damn about his kid, so what did he have to be pissed about. If he wasn't such a spineless asshole he could say the word and have Lynch in lock up faster than he could blink, but then of course he'd have to admit what he'd done. Annabell on the other hand looked ready to fall down, she'd aged tenfold in the last couple of weeks, Nick's heart really did go out to her. He wondered if she knew what kind of bastard she shared her life with, probably not. At least not yet. Nick strode purposefully towards the couple, ignoring the look Mike shot him when he got close. It was an all or nothing situation, and Nick was feeling reckless. His only regret would be that Annabell would have to listen to all he was about to say.

"You happy now man! Huh? You happy that the guy that screwed your kid senseless and buried a bullet in him is walkin' away?"

Mike advanced on him, cracking his knuckles and extending himself to his full height.

"Why don't you just watch what the fuck you say? My son is dead, I'm in grieving and his mother is standing right there. You need to check yourself boy, don't go sayin' things you'll regret. Might just earn yourself another lickin'"

"Is that supposed to be a threat? You don't scare me you spineless dipshit, you see I know exactly what you are, and I think it's only right that the Mikey's mother knows exactly who's to blame for her little boys death."

"I'm warning you Tex, back the hell off."

Nick didn't even pause for breath before turning towards Annabell and speaking to Campbell once more in mock incredulity.

"What, you don't think that Annabell deserves to know that it was you that prostituted her son to that man so you could feed your own habit, you don't think…."

The end of the sentence was halted abruptly by Campbell's fist slamming into nicks face. Jim stormed from his office upon hearing the raised voices, and was just in time to stop Nick getting his ass kicked for the second time in as many days. He called for a couple of uniforms to escort Mike to the holding bay before stooping down to help Nick back on his feet. He glared at the young man; Nick imagined he wasn't impressed with his performance. Annabel stood, rooted to the spot, in utter disbelief at what she'd heard. Nick was re-establishing his balance with the help of Jim when she walked towards him, eyes blazing.

"Is it true?"

At seeing the furry and pain mingled in her eyes Nick regretted his actions. Not telling her what had happened, but the way he'd done it. It was cruel, much crueller than he'd intended. He bowed his head, he was ashamed at what he'd done, couldn't look at her. He knew he'd let his emotions get the best of him once more, he wasn't the only one suffering because of the case, in fact he knew whatever he'd been going through could only have been a fraction of what this woman had suffered.

"I'm sorry ma'am."

"No! You don't be sorry! You tell me if what you said was true! Did Mike know what was going on, or are you just a spiteful son of a bitch who likes to revel in other peoples misery, we just lost our son officer Stokes, you better straighten up an talk to me! I thought that you cared, thought you gave a damn."

Nick raised his head to meet her gaze.

"I do care, and I'm sorry it came out the way it did, but we have reason to believe that your husband knew that lynch was abusing your son, and that further to that, it was how he paid for his drugs. I just want justice for Mikey, he deserves that."

Nick moved faster than Jim to catch the young woman who seemed to crumple in on herself at the revelation. Nick cradled her to him as she sobbed uncontrollably. Even her slight weight was too much for Nick to bear in his weakened state and as her legs gave way they both crumpled to the ground. Jim didn't know what to do as he watched the two before him, both weeping now for the little boy, Nick rocking Annabell lightly against his chest, telling her that it was going to be ok.

He hoped Nick knew something he didn't. Jim moved to scoop the woman from Nicks arms, he'd take her too the relatives room. He left Nick where he was, back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest and head bowed in quiet contemplation. His silent revere was broken by the unmistakable twang of his father.

"Looks like you need to pull yourself together. Cowboy up Nicholas."

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

Nick raised his tired head to look at his father. He was the same as he always was, dressed immaculately and scowling at him. His mother paled at the sight of his bruised face. He was getting his stitches removed next week, but right now the black threads stood in sharp contrast to his pale skin. His usually tan complexion was washed out, and the areas not marred with bruises were pasty and grey. An area of redness was fast developing on his chin where Mike had landed a pretty nifty right hook, and his ribs were ablaze once more from the single kick he'd delivered before Jim came to the rescue. His mother momentarily forgot her husband's presence and rushed to her child's side, kneeling in front of him, cupping his face gently in her hands and searching deep within his eyes. Her baby boy was losing the fight.

"I'm ok mom, don't worry, it's just a few bruises, I'm fine, really, I am."

His tone was light; he hated to make her worry. He cupped her face with his own hand, gently wiping away the tears that fell unchecked from her eyes.

"It's ok." He whispered, as if his normal voice might shake her further.

"Nicky, what did they do to you honey?"

"It's fine; you should see the other guy."

It was the second time he'd made the joke. It wasn't funny this time either, but like before, it provided a respite from the tension. Nick really wasn't sure he wanted to sit in the hallway of the crime lab crying with his mother. He was also acutely aware of his father's presence and stifled a moan to push himself onto his feet before taking his mothers hand and helping her up.

"So…what brings you two to Vegas, thinking' of getting' hitched?"

Jillian laughed. She wasn't sure if she was more sad or glad that Nick was doing as he always had, joking, making it easy for them to believe he was ok, when it was all too evident that he was far from it.

She slipped her small hand into his and squeezed it gently, frowning first at the multitude of bandages that were wrapped around his arm to protect the injured bone, before smiling up at him.

"Your father and I just wanted to make sure you were ok after what happened. We tried calling you, but I understand that you've been working hard to try and solve a case."

He laughed to himself, _your father and I, _he wondered why she bothered to cover for him. The Judge didn't give a damn about him, hadn't since he opened his damn mouth all those years ago. He supposed it was sweet of her to try though, and never called her on it. That was how they worked, they lied to each other, said whatever they thought they should and let each others lies go unchecked.

"I'm sorry to have dragged you guys all the way down here on my account."

"Yes well Nicholas, perhaps if you learned to be more careful we wouldn't need to come and make sure you're still here. Now. We'll be eating at 9 in the Bellagio, you'll wear a suit of course, assuming you have one, and you'll meet your mother and I at 8. She feels the need to catch up with you."

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it tonight, I left Sara back at mine, she'll be worried if I don't get back soon, and I have some paperwork to do for my case."

That was unexpected. Jillian tensed immediately, Bill wasn't a man you said no to, Nick had been on the receiving end of the mans temper too many times to recount. He always seemed to act out when his dad was around; despite the fact he knew the consequences would be severe. He should have known that the dinner invitation was a requirement, not a suggestion. Before Bill could give him a tongue lashing Jillian stepped in.

"Well why don't you bring her along, you know I'd love to meet her, you talk so much about her, and she's always so nice when she answers your phone. Please Nicky, you look like you could do with a nice meal, you've lost weight, and I hardly ever get to see you anymore, always so busy saving the world. I miss my little boy Nick, please, say you'll come."

Nick was tired, he was sore and the last thing he wanted to do was go for dinner with his father. He kissed his mother lightly on the cheek, squeezing her hand.

"Sure I will mom, I'll see you there at 8, and I'll ask Sara if she'll come, you can meet her properly."

* * *

Nick headed towards Jim's office, figured he should apologise for having nearly started a brawl in the corridor with a victims family. Even if the family did happen to include a punk ass dad. He rapped gently on the door before sticking his head in. Brass looked up from the paperwork he was filling in and motioned with his hand for Nick to come in, take a seat. He leaned back in his chair, arms thrown open. Explain yourself.

"Hey…I a…just wanted to apologise for earlier."

Jim squinted his eyes at the young man before him.

"Want to tell me what's going on Nick?"

"I guess I just let my emotions get the better of me. It won't happen again."

Brass leaned forward again, contemplating his next move, gauging Nicks answer.

"Look Nick, Nicky, we both know I'm not Grissom, so we got two options here. I can nod my head, tell you to keep your emotions in check, I can buy the story you just sold me, or I can ask you what's really going on. It's up to you kiddo, whatever you want to tell me right now is just fine. I just need you to know that my doors always open for you, you really are the son I never had Nick and it breaks me up to see you hurting. Take the time off Nick, do whatever you got to do, just let this case go. There's nothing else we can do. God knows there's only so much you can deal with in a lifetime."

Nick was momentarily stunned at the misty-eyed assurances from the detective. He knew that Brass had taken note of his reaction to Lynch, had no doubt been watching him closely since then and now, well now he could see it in Jim's eyes. He knew what had happened; he understood the case's effect on him. At this moment Nick had never been more grateful to the man that sat opposite him, they both knew what they knew, but right now Jim was giving him an out, told him that he'd believe whatever Nick said, which was exactly what he needed right now.

"Thanks Jim."

He said it, and he meant it. Perhaps one day he'd come to his "uncle" Jim and they'd talk it all out, but not today, today it was all too much, today he just needed to be told to keep his emotions in check. Nick rose from the chair he'd been sitting in and headed towards the door, glancing back at the sound of Jims voice.

"Nicky, keep your emotions in check son."

"Will do sir."

* * *

Maybe Jim was right. Maybe he should just accept that the case was sunk. Lynch would get away with killing Mikey and Mike would get away with having sold his first born to feed his addiction. Sure, he hated the idea of it, it tore him up inside, but what could he really do about it. A little vigilante justice sounded nice about now, but he knew well enough to know that wasn't how the world worked. Sometimes the system just didn't get it right, it wasn't always neat and tidy. He'd be on a new case next week and the expectation would be for him to be back to sunny side up Stokes, as if the case before had never happened, as if a 9 year old kid hadn't been subjected to the worst kind of violence before death claimed him. Hell, maybe he was better off dead, at least now he wasn't suffering, he'd probably begged for death to come, Nick knew he had, he'd even gone so far as to invite death in to his life at one point in his struggle to come to terms with what had happened to him. Six stitches and a warning to be more careful with his pen knife and it was never mentioned again. That's how this would be too, a faded photograph, one that no one talks about anymore. No one remembers the names that go with the faces.

Nick was consumed with his thoughts as he headed towards the car park, head bowed, however, his inner monologue was halted abruptly by a familiar voice.

"Mr Stokes...I need to talk to you...please, if you had the time, it's about Mikey...please, will you help me, I need someone to help me, it's all my fault."

Nick jerked his head up. His thoughts of giving up immediately gone.

_It's not over til it's over..._

* * *

AN: Hey, just a quick word to first of all thank you all for reading, especially those who take the time to leave a few words in a review. Also...this story is kind of drawing to a close and there are probably two possible endings for the case, the bad guys get what they deserve, or they get away with all they've done and Nick has to live with the fact that the system doesn't always get it right. I've had an idea of how it was all going to play out from the start, but if anyone has any thoughts or feelings about it...it'd be cool to hear them. Thanks again. A


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

Nick took in the sight in front of him with a certain degree of trepidation. Annabell stood in front of him, tears streaking her face, clutching little Jesse's hand so tight he wondered if it was hurting the kid. Her eyes were wild and darted from Nick to the door to the lab he'd just come from.

"Ah..Miss Turner…is everything alright?"

"Mike, is he…are they…is he being charged because he hit you?"

"Ah…no ma'am, probably not…ahem…I kinda provoked him so…y'know."

He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, wondering what he was meant to do. A heavy silence lay between them, each appraising the other, neither knowing quite what should be said.

"Are you ok Miss Turner?"

"I just don't know what to do. What he did to Mikey, that night, when I came home, I just, and I didn't know what to do. My little boy, my little baby boy, and Mike, he was just so scared. Mr Stokes I love my children, I loved Mikey and I love Jesse, but I just don't know what to do, I'm so sorry, I just…"

The woman broke down, sobbing, gut churning sobs; she was quickly joined in her wailing by Jesse. Nick didn't hesitate before wrapping his arms around them both.

"It's ok, this wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything wrong."

"All those nights I left him Mr Stokes, he begged me not to go, and now I know why. What kind of mother am I? And then when it happened. God. I should have called the cops, but Mike said it was going to be ok, he said he'd take care of it. He knew! He told me it was ok, and all the time he knew, it was his fault. How is any of this ok? My boy is gone, and it's all his fault."

"What do you mean when it happened? When what happened? Where you there when Mikey was murdered?"

Nicks heartbeat rocketed. I she knew what had happened she'd be able to tell them, they'd be able to prosecute.

"Please, Mr Stokes, I just need to get away form him, I need Jesse to be safe, will you help me, please."

"Annabell, you need to tell me, do you know what happened the evening Mikey was killed?"

"I can't…I can't…I'm so scared. They're going to let him go. It's not safe anymore, I need to get away, I need to go someplace. Help me. Please."

"It's ok, I won't let anything happen to you, I just need to know whatever it is that you know about Mikey's death. We can make sure they pay for what they did, but I need your help, you need to come with me and just make a statement, ok, tell me what happened?"

Nicks pleas were falling on deaf ears, it was obvious Annabell was someplace else. Her mind had catapulted her back to the night that Mikey had died, and now she was playing it out. Only looking towards Nick when she arrived at the end of his subconscious stream of thoughts.

"He was covered in blood, he looked so small and he was still warm and I just wanted it to all be a dream and Mike was there too and I needed Mikey to be ok, but he wasn't ok and his clothes were soaked through, I just couldn't let him go, I held him so tight, he needed clean clothes, I should have called for help, but Mike told me…he told me what we had to do. God. My little boy, he just gets so scared. Mr Stokes?"

"You changed his clothes?"

The question wasn't answered, the near catatonic woman took the final step, mouth clamping shut, eyes glazing over, pulling Jesse impossibly close. Nick spun round to see what had caused the sudden change, though in truth he knew what he would see even before he looked. A shadow was cast over them as the door to the lab had swung open and the oppressive figure of Mike Campbell had emerged. One look was all it had taken to render Annabell dumb. Nick begged her with his eyes, despite the menacing figure that was bearing down on them. Mike took deliberately slow steps, daring either of them to say something.

Nick turned to Annabell once more, looking first to her and then to her son, before locking eyes with her once more. He spoke urgently, in a half whispered tone, he didn't know why; Mike was right behind, could hear every word.

"Annabell, please, we'll look after you, I won't let him hurt you, please, think of Jesse, do it for him. Annabell…"

"Step away cowboy."

Nick continued to plead with Annabell. He was desperate for her to fill in the blanks. She evidently knew exactly what had happened; he just needed her to tell him.

"If you just tell them what happened we can end this here, we can get justice for Mikey. Annabell, think about him, your little boy."

"I ain't gonna tell you again Tex, back the hell away from my family."

The threat was punctuated with a knuckle crack and a sharp shove at Nicks shoulder.

Annabell momentarily snapped back to reality.

"Please Nick, just leave it alone, leave me alone, I'm fine. Just go."

"Annabell please…"

"…You heard the lady."

Mikes voice was low, full of threat. Nick was fucked. He couldn't just walk away and leave Annabell and Jesse with this monster, but what could he do, short of dragging her into the station to make a statement, he had no options. He also knew he stood a good chance of being pounded into the pavement if he stood there any longer.

"It's going to be ok Mr Stokes."

And just like that Annabells face became calm. Her very being seemed to sigh in relief and her body relaxed. Nick didn't know what was happening. She smiled at him, nodded her head slightly and reached her hand towards Mike. Nick was rooted to the spot, watching as she walked towards the street hand in hand with Mike; Jesse balanced expertly on her hip. He was struggling to follow the picture as it played out. Nothing seemed real to him anymore. He forced himself to move, walking slowly towards his Denali, climbing in, turning the key in the ignition and moving off slowly. His next conscious thought saw him fumbling with his front door key, desperate to sit down, suddenly exhausted.

* * *

Nick heard the shower running when he finally managed to get into this apartment. He was glad Sara was still here. He was getting used to having her around all the time, wondered how she'd react if he told her to keep his spare key, maybe move a couple of boxes into the place. He dropped onto the couch in the living room. His body ached and his head was throbbing. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years, lamented the memory that he had to meet his parents in a few hours. He honestly didn't know if he'd be ready to face it by then. Everything was sort of hazy in his mind of late. Since having seven shades beat out of him he seemed to have been moving in slow motion, losing entire hours in his day, spacing in and out of conscious thought. His sleep was plagued with nightmares, while his waking hours revolved around Mikey Campbell. His mind hadn't quite made it back to the room when he smelt vanilla and watermelons. Sara was kneeling in front of him, hair still damp, looking into his eyes. He wondered what she saw there. He reached his hand out to cup her face, rubbing her cheek gently with his thumb. He breathed more than spoke when he opened his mouth.

"Hey."

She could hear the disappointment in his voice, could almost feel the tension in the simple greeting. She rose and slid onto his lap, rubbing her hands over his chest.

"You ok?"

It was a stupid question.

"Yea."

It was a lie.

"Are you tired?"

Another stupid question.

"I'm fine."

Another lie.

"Nick?"

It wasn't really a question.

"Lynch is out, Campbell almost broke my jaw, Annabell may just have slipped over the edge, Brass knows I'm fucked up and my parents are here. We're having dinner with them at 8. If you want to come."

It was an answer.

Sara buried her head in his shoulder, kissing his neck lightly, running her hands over his strong arms. He rested his hands on her hips, but didn't take his eyes off the wall opposite him. What do you do in these kinds of situations?

Sara broke the silence that had engulfed the room. Her incredulity shaking the walls.

"You expect me to sit at a table with your father knowing what he did? _You're _going to sit with him knowing what he did?"

"He's still my father Sara, and I'm not going for him. I made my mom cry."

The silence fell again, Nick really wished he had a remote for his stereo, at least then he could click a button and have a little Petty to ease the tension. Everything was better with Tom. As it was, he sat with a rather damp Sara still on his lap, wondering if he should just pick her up and take her to bed. "Screw" reality. She'd probably tell him he was using sex to block out the pain. He wouldn't want to hear it.

"Will you come with me?"

"You know I will."

* * *

Dinner with Nick's parents was particularly awkward. While Sara instantly loved his mother; she struggled to sit opposite his father without kneeing him in the groin. Everything about him rubbed her up the wrong way. The hard stare he'd fixed Nick with as they'd sat down, the way he called him Nicolas and the way he capitalised on every opportunity to make Nick feel bad. It was an impossibly uncomfortable situation. Nick wished he'd never made her come. He always seemed to regress a couple of decades around his father, slipping into the role of a disappointing child without any effort. He figured it was hardly impressing Sara. The conversation inevitably fell into the realms of things, "Nicolas" sucked at. Relationships was probably next in line if Nick had been keeping track properly.

"So, you studied at Harvard! That is impressive. You know Nick never was very bright, I think he barely scrapped by, only that he had a hell of a throwing arm we might never have seen him get further than the local burger bar, isn't that right Nicholas. He never was an academic. They tried to tell us he was dyslexic, but if you ask me he just never had it in him. Makes me wonder what a smart young thing like you is doing with him. He never has had much luck sustaining relationships; I wonder if you imagine he has a trust fund tucked away someplace?"

Bill laughed a kind of hollow laugh, as if he'd made a joke. It was the kind of statement that would be forever refereed to as, "a joke with a jag." It wasn't so much a joke, as another thinly veiled opportunity to kick Nick while he was down.

Sara's eyes went to Nicks. He could see she was beyond livid at the comment. Nick shook his head, telling her not to get worked up by it. To just let it go. He'd been here so many times before, knew his father was baiting him, also knew that the easiest way to get out of this dinner alive was to nod along. His father wanted him to be a fuck up, so he'd be a fuck up for him. Agree that he had nothing going for him, ignore the fact that he could have had an academic scholarship but chose to take up the sports scholarship in a futile and misguided bid to please his father. He'd warned Sara this would happen, and now he just hoped that she wouldn't try and wade to his defence. He'd grown so accustomed to being the punching bag in the family that nothing his father said had any effect on him. At least that's what he told himself. His mother had long since given up trying to look out for him; at least that's what he thought until now.

"Bill, please, that's enough. It's obvious that they love each other. I've never seen Nick relax so much as he does when Sara is around. Our son was just attacked a few days ago trying to solve a case with a little boy who was murdered. Can't you just leave him alone for even five minutes? He's a good man William; I won't sit back and let you continue to trample all over him."

The Judge appeared to pay little attention to what his wife was saying, but had evidently taken in every word as he turned to Nick.

"Have you managed to figure out what happened yet?"

Nick didn't have the chance to answer before Sara plunged into the conversation, fixing the older man in a glare that would have made hardened criminals cry, but which served only to entertain the Judge.

"Actually the little boy was probably murdered by his fathers drug dealer, you see his father allowed him to be sexually abused in exchange for drugs. Pretty lousy situation really, abandoning your son when he needs you most, allowing him to be violated and doing nothing to help him, doing nothing to get any kind of justice for him. He was nine, just a little kid, defenceless, relying on his daddy to save him, to make it stop hurting. His father is a real piece of work don't you think, I mean he really is the lowest of the low. Leaving his little boy to twist in the wind like that."

Nicks mother paled at the vivid picture being painted by Sara, something that didn't go unnoticed by either of the men at the table, though it was Nick that put a stop to it. His tone was more forceful than he intended, telling her to drop it. Sara glared at him across the table, before rounding on the judge once more, deriving a small degree of pleasure from the fact that the pompous asshole opposite her had taken on a deathly pallor and was decidedly agitated. He knew that she knew what he'd done. She basked in her "triumph" a little before turning her attention to Nick, who looked like he might lose his stomach contents. His head was bowed and his hands were clenched together tightly under the table. She knew instantly that she'd screwed up. Nick was embarrassed, ashamed. He shouldn't have been, but he was. He never wanted anyone to know about what had happened to him, and now his mother was quietly adding up the figures while is dad regarded his youngest child closely. Any further conversation was interrupted by the chirp of Nick's cell phone. He excused himself to answer it, noting that it was Brass' number. Sara fidgeted at the suddenly silent dinner table; avoiding Jillian's imploring eyes and burning under the judge's hard stare. She supposed this was no less than she deserved for practically yelling about what had happened to Nick as a child, and leaving no uncertainty as to who she blamed for it. She understood she'd been less than subtle and had in all likelihood created a very sticky situation for Nick to have to deal with.

She tugged at her napkin, praying Nick would get back soon so they could make their excuses and leave, however, his deathly pale face appearing at the table 5 minutes later told her that the tide had yet to turn on Nicks run of bad luck.

He spoke as if on autopilot, his eyes glazed.

"Mike Campbell's dead…Annabel's been arrested. Jim says she's refusing to speak until she sees me."

* * *


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

"Shit! Where are my fucking keys! Sara I can't find my keys."

They were standing in the car park of the restaurant, Nick was frantically turning his pockets out looking for the keys for his truck; Sara was searching her purse, while his parents looked mildly bewildered by their sons agitated state.

"We must have left them in the restaurant, look; I'll go back and get them."

Sara was trying to stay calm, but Nicks agitation seemed to be infectious.

"Damn-it, Mom, can you give me a ride down to the station, Sara, maybe you could take dad back to their hotel when you find the keys."

"Nicky, baby, do you really think you going down there is such a good idea."

Nick gripped the ends of his hair, he was visibly pale and his hands trembled.

"Christ, Sara, this is all my fault, I should never have told her, fuck, I just need to get there, I need to know what's happening. Mom, please, can you drive me?"

His mother rubbed his back, just as she had when he was a child, wakened by a nightmare.

"Just calm down honey, I'll take you. Bill, you can catch a cab back to the hotel and I'll join you just as soon as Nicks finished at the station."

Sara, slung her purse over her shoulder again, recalling that the keys had been sitting on the table during dinner. She half debated just letting the jerk catch a cab, but he was Nicks father, and he seemed to expect her to forget the fact that "the judge" was a prize winning prick.

"Ah, it's fine, I can drop him off, I'm going that way anyhow."

* * *

Annabell looked different to Nick. She sat quietly at the other side of the interrogation room table, hands clasped in front of her, no hint of panic or remorse. She looked so much younger than she had before, but all the desperation and hurt that had threatened to consume her just hours before had evaporated. Though Nick had arrived almost 10 minutes ago she had yet to speak to either him or Brass. Jim was struggling to stay patient, he knew the woman's story, could guess what had transpired, but this was no time for him to be emotionally involved. The woman in front of him had killed her partner in cold blood; there would inevitably be consequences, the magnitude of which depended invariably on what transpired in the next few hours. This was the time for Annabell to explain herself, to present the mitigating circumstances in all their glory. This was her opportunity to save herself from a lifetime of free bed and board courtesy of the county, and yet she remained silent, showing no signs of emotion. Jim looked at Nick, shrugging. The ball was obviously in Nick's court, she'd asked for him after-all. Both men were taken by surprise when she started talking, as if she'd only just realised they were in the room.

"I got home. Mike went to lie down. He's been tired lately. I put Jesse down for his nap and then I went to the kitchen and got the knife. I stabbed the son of a bitch and I'm glad I did it…"

Nick was almost bowled off his seat at the stark confession.

"Ah, hold on Annabell, you know you have the right to legal assistance. We can get someone here for you, we'll call an attorney, just, y'know…this is a serious crime, tell us why you did it y'know, explain it to us Annabell."

"Nick."

Jim's tone was full of warning. He was crossing the line. The suspect knew her rights, knew she could have an attorney. Jim knew Nick was in deep with this one, but it wasn't his job to save this woman. She had exercised her own autonomy.

Nick stopped talking, but held Annabel's gaze, silently communicating with her.

"I don't want a lawyer."

Her voice didn't waiver, she held Nicks gaze. He looked at Jim; he was out of his depth. Why wouldn't she help herself? Brass would have sworn Nick was 10 years old, so lost, confused. He didn't understand what was going on. Regardless of his own feelings on the subject Brass informed them that he was terminating the interview and clicked the tape recorder off. He looked at the young CSI beside him. Nick had lost weight, looked like crap, looked so desperately sad and alone. Brass was conflicted. Nick needed this case to work out, needed not to have the burden of this young woman spending the rest of her life in prison, but Jim was old enough to know what was going down. It wasn't about playing the system, she knew what she'd done, she was wise beyond her years, and Jim felt a prick of admiration for her. She knew the consequences of what she'd done, it seemed like it was only Nick who was struggling to understand the tune he had to dance too.

"Nick…I'm going to go get an officer to escort Miss Turner to the holding cells, you'll keep an eye on her until I get back."

Nick knew there were at least two uniforms just outside the door. Jim was walking away, turning a blind eye as it were.

"I'll be back in 5 minutes Nick."

"Ok, thanks Brass."

Annabell looked upon the exchange with confusion, she had no idea what was going on. Jim left the room, closing the door behind him and making his way into the observation gallery. He would let Nick have his time with her, but he wasn't about to let the kid commit career suicide to get her out of the mess she was in.

Nick leaned across the table a little, breaking the imaginary boundary that separated the "crims" from the cops. He spoke gently.

"Listen, Annabell, if you just tell us what happened, with Mikey, what Mike did, if you explain it all…you might have a chance of walking away from this. Justifiable homicide y'know. We'll get you a lawyer ok, it's gonna be ok."

"Mr Stokes, I don't think I want to walk away from it. I killed him. I stuck a knife in him and I watched him die. He's the reason that my beautiful boy is dead. HE did it. I'm not sorry I did what I did, and I won't say that I am. I'm not scared of prison Mr Stokes, that doesn't scare me at all. You want to know what scares me. What turns my blood to ice? The thought of my baby, of Jesse suffering like Mikey did. I won't let it happen. I'm his mother, it's my job to be there for my children, and I let them down, I let them down Mr Stokes, I let them get hurt. I wasn't there when my baby cried for me all those nights, and then when that man took a gun and fired a bullet into him, when he shot him like a rabid dog. I let Mike bring him to me. His body still warm and wet with blood, and I changed him and I left him where I could see him, and I watched him all night, but I didn't turn that animal in. I knew who had killed my boy, and I did nothing! I was protecting Mike. He was so scared, thought Lynch would come after me and Jesse next, told me it had just happened, he didn't know why. He did though, he knew exactly why, and I'm not sorry he's dead, but I took a life that wasn't mine to take. I'll take my punishment. Nothing they do to me will ever be enough to punish me for what I've done, what I've allowed to happen. It's all on me…"

Nick was desperate for her to understand. She just needed to tell her story right, to spin it somehow. She wasn't a bad woman but she blamed herself, was resigned to the punishment, and perhaps desired it. He just couldn't see her as anything but the victim in all of this. It wasn't her fault her son had suffered, he knew better than most that parents can't always be there when they're needed. He had never blamed his mom or dad for what had happened to him, but he wasn't sure he'd ever understand his father's reaction, his blatant inaction. That's what killed Nick inside.

"Annabell I know you think you deserve to be punished, but you don't have to spend the rest of your life suffering for this. Think of Jesse, please, accept the help; just let an attorney handle it. Don't do anything rash."

She caressed his face with her bright eyes. He'd been the only one she'd met who seemed to truly care. She felt like she had let him down somehow.

"Mr Stokes…Nick…it's going to be ok."

Any further comment was prevented when the door swung open and Grissom strode in.

"Nick, I need to see you for a moment."

Nick stood slowly, casting one last look towards Annabell, imploring her to take his advice. He passed Jim in the doorway as he followed Grissom into the hall. Brass tossed him a kind of "good luck kid" look as he went towards Annabell along with a uniformed officer.

* * *

They'd barely made it into the hallway before Grissom started.

"What the hell are you doing Nick? You need to go home, you can't be here, you can't be on this case. You're acting like she's the victim in all of this Nick. She killed a man in cold blood!"

All Nick could find to hold on to was the anger that bubbled inside him. He didn't realise that his voice was raised, that he was almost shouting at his boss, challenging him, daring him to say something to tip him over the edge.

"It's not that simple and you know it Gris! Not everything is black and white y'know, its not always just good or bad man!"

"So you condone murder now Nick?"

Grissoms deliberate nonchalance grated on Nicks nerves.

"No! Jesus Gris! That's not what I'm saying, but tell me you don't feel for her? Her kid was pimped by his father! What do you expect her to do, just sit back and watch her other kid be murdered too so her boyfriend can shoot up!"

"No…I expect her to let the justice system deal with it, to let us do our jobs."

"BULLSHIT Grissom! You really have no kind of sympathy for this woman! She has to leave it to us? Cause we're makin' a hell of a job of it so far aren't we!"

He tossed his arms up in frustration, revelling in the shot of pain the gesture caused to shoot through his ribcage.

"I didn't say that Nick, but we can hardly condone vigilante justice, where would that leave us. People killing because they feel they've been wronged. Letting evil take control?"

Nick ran a frustrated hand through his hair, he wanted to punch something. Couldn't stand the pressure that gurgled in his ears and threatened to explode his head.

"Come-on man! She's not the Devil! She's just trying to protect her kid!"

"Be that as it may, Mike Campbell is somebody's _kid _too isn't he…who gets to decide Nick? You think it's up to us?"

Grissoms tone softened as he drank in the appearance of his fledgling CSI. He had so much to learn. Nick Stokes would take a lot of beatings before he found his equilibrium, that much was apparent.

"Go home Nick, get some rest, you look like you're ready to fall over."

With that Grissom turned and walked away and Nick was suddenly devoid of anger, he felt empty. Wondered if he'd ever feel normal again. Johnny Cash rang in his ears…_I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel._

* * *

Nick was startled when a hand rested on his arm.

"Hey, mom, sorry, we should get going. I could have caught a cab; you shouldn't have waited all this time for me."

Jillian turned Nick to face her, rubbed her hands over his strong arms, and regarded him intently. She'd watched him in the interrogation room, had watched him just now with his boss, but she wasn't like her husband, she couldn't just stand by and watch.

"Let's get some coffee honey."

Nick glanced at his watch, it was getting late.

"Mom, I'm fine. Dad'll be wondering where you are."

"So I'll call him, let him know I'll be a while. Maybe you should give Sara a call too. I'm sure she's wearing a hole in her carpet waiting for you. You can fill me in on the case, who knows, I might even have a few thoughts on the matter?"

His mother smiled at him, and he felt his barriers drop. Coffee sounded like a good idea.

* * *

Nick recounted the details of the case, in all their glory. His mother had been a public defender for many years, a fact she had reminded him off when he had chosen to give her the cliff notes with a layer of sugar. No need to sugar coat it for me son. She watched him, noted how his demeanour changed when he talked about Annabel. He was caught up in the injustice of the justice system. He couldn't understand why it was how it was. Common sense just wasn't how it operated. Jillian understood it, but more than that she understood Nick, knew he had a heart of gold, that he always wanted to see the good in people, to understand their motivations. She was sad when she looked at him and saw him suffer. She was also standing on the edge of her own personal abyss. Sara's comments earlier had struck a nerve, and now as she sat with her youngest son she found the evidence impossible to deny.

"…she just…she thinks she's responsible for what happened to Mikey. It's like she thinks if she goes to prison for killing Mike it'll be her _saving grace. _Like she'll pay for one using the other. I just…I can't get my head around it; she thinks it's all on her. She blames herself for his being murdered…for his being raped."

As Nick struggled to communicate his feelings, Jillian felt the flip flop of her stomach somersaulting, and as Nick had done with Sara only two days ago, she gave in to reckless abandon and said the first thing that entered her head.

"Do _you_ blame _me_?"

* * *

AN: sooo...again, thanks to all the people who read and especially to those who review. This chapter was...well...it was a little different, so i'm particularly curious to know how people feel about it. It would be interesting to know if anyone has any thoughts on how the whole Annabell thing is going down. I'm not sure how I feel about it all myself. Nothing is ever just black and white I guess. Who gets to decide?


	20. Chapter 20

* * *

Despite what Sara had said the hotel Nick's parents were staying at was not, "on the way" to her apartment. It would take at least 30 minutes to get there. The first 10 had been spent in heavy silence. Sara gripped the wheel so hard she thought she might break it, while the Texan beside her had his jaw clenched so tightly she could hear the muscles in his face squeak. She knew now where Nick got the habit from, though the effect was completely different. Clenched jaw Nick was ridiculously attractive, and angry Nick was very much a "fuckable" Nick, but she found herself boiling over with rage at the blatant indignation radiating from the man beside her. What the hell did he have to be angry about, he was a first rate fuck up.

The Judge's steely voice shattered the silence, causing Sara to momentarily loose her focus on the road as her head snapped towards him.

"I hope you realise the heartache you've caused Nicholas this evening, not to mention my wife and myself."

Sara's eyebrows shot impossibly high at the statement, she was momentarily stunned into silence as the judge continued to stare out the window beside him.

"I can't imagine Nicholas wants his unfortunate past dragged up in front of the whole world."

Sara was on the verge of a meltdown, the Judge had clearly never heard about her reputation for tearing shreds of people. What did she care if he was a Supreme Court Judge that clearly didn't stop him being a selfish, ignorant asshole. She decided that now was as good a time as any to take up the mantle and inform him that he was an idiot.

"His unfortunate past! Is that what you think rape constitutes!"

The man beside her visibly paled when the word rape was thrown at him. The usually unflappable man stumbled over his words as his head snapped towards Sara.

"Please...just don't, don't say that, don't say anything else, just leave it all alone before you do any more damage girl."

"You are unbelievable!"

"Excuse me?" the indignation ricocheted around the car, bouncing off the parallel waves of anger that shot from each side of the car.

"I said you're unbelievable. Your son is a perfect, loving man, who risks his life to get justice for victims of crime, and all you do is trample on him! You have no idea how hard this case is for him. He's identifying with the victim, because he knows exactly how that little boy felt, and then it turns out that it's his fathers fault!"

"Now hold on just a minute, nothing that happened to my boy was my fault, he had to stay home because he broke the rules, what happened was unfortunate, but not my fault and certainly not Jilly's fault, so why don't you just leave us out of whatever blame game you and Nick are playing."

"What did you do after he told you?"

She already knew he'd done next to nothing, but she was convinced she could get through to him if she made him face up to the fact he had screwed up with Nick.

"I did what was best."

"Best for WHOM?!"

"For all of us. It was a different time back then Miss Sidle. Men weren't victims of rape. It's not like it is today, what would my boy have had to live with? He would have suffered at the hands of closed minded fools. You think a nine year old boy who told people he'd been touched by a woman would be treated like a victim! Don't be deliberately naive. Things were different then; I did what was best for our family."

"I don't believe you! Best for the family! What about what was best for Nick? He was just a little boy, he didn't know what was going on and he came to you! He told you, and you did nothing! Do you really think you did what was best for him, honestly?"

"Look, I really think you ought to just stop right there, before you take this too far. He's my son, and I did what I thought was best. I'd just as soon not talk about it anymore, and I'd remind you to be careful about what you say around my wife. She doesn't need to know about this."

Sara sighed aloud, before turning her attention fully to the road ahead again. It was amazing that Nick had turned into the man he had. She fought with her inner desires and kept her mouth shut, knowing that in all likely-hood Nick would be pissed with her for bringing the matter up in the first place.

* * *

Grissom had been sitting in his darkened office since he'd come to blows with Nick in the corridor after Annabel's interview. He had given up any thoughts of doing paperwork a little over an hour ago and now was simply sitting there, letting the darkness wrap itself around him. His solace was broken when a familiar face appeared from around the door. Gil nodded and dropped his glasses onto his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, as Jim took a seat opposite him and loosened his tie, before pulling it off and popping open his top two shirt buttons.

"I screwed up Jim."

Grissom's voice was low, deflated somehow, and full of resignation. Jim appraised his oldest friend, taking note that he was squinting, a sure sign of a migraine. He also noticed that the colours in Grissom's eyes were mixing together, that there was something brewing in there. The wheels had finally started to turn and everything was falling into place. Grissom always got there in the end, though unfortunately it was usually sometime after the fact.

"Yea, you did."

There was no accusation, just a quiet affirmation.

"Is Nick ok?"

"No…but he will be."

"I really screwed this up."

"Yea, you really did."

Gil wasn't fazed by the blatant honestly coming from the man in front of him. He knew he could always count on Jim to give it to him straight.

"I don't know how to make things right with us."

"You told him the truth. It wasn't up to Annabell to decide if Mike Campbell lived or died…even if he was the scum of the earth."

"I'm not sure that's what Nick needed to hear."

"No, he probably didn't…but he needs to learn it sometime."

"He could be a hell of a CSI Jim."

"He's a good kid."

"Yes…yes he is."

"You look like hell…when was the last time you slept."

"I don't remember."

"Go home Gil, you can't do anything for Nick right now. Get some sleep. You can talk to him when you're both a little more understanding. Nick's got a lot on his plate right now."

* * *

Nick's eyes immediately locked with his mothers, and he felt the acid churn in his stomach. His head was simultaneously heavy and light and the room twisted around him. He could see the tears brimming in her eyes, filling up until they had no other option but to fall. Her powdery blue eyes flickered with innumerable emotions as her hands clutched one another like life preservers she hoped would save her from the ocean of tears that threatened to breach the dam.

Nick's voice was little more than a whisper, full of despair and regret. The single word he could force from his lips was everything and nothing, begging her not to ask him that, willing her to forget whatever it was that had made her ask him. He felt hollow, hated himself for being the cause of _that _look. It was just as his father had said it would be…he was breaking her heart and he would have given anything to stop the pain from catching hold of her.

"Momma."

She reached her hand towards his face, cupping his cheek gently to wipe the solitary tear that glistened, half suspended on his pale face. Her own eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, causing her poorly concealed tears to plunge down her soft cheeks, one after the other, all fighting to be free. She snapped her fingers back almost as soon as she touched him, as if his skin was red hot fire. As if he burned her.

Nick reached across the small café table and pulled his mothers hands towards him, wrapping them tightly in his own, larger, stronger hands.

"Please, don't cry, please mom, look at me, look at me, its ok, please, its ok."

"Nick?"

As their eyes locked once more Nick was struck by how old his mother seemed right at that moment, the wrinkles on her face seemed deeper and more numerous, and the skin on the hands he still held tightly in his own, seemed so fragile. She looked hopelessly lost. He knew better than most what that was like and was beside her almost instantly as she seemed to crumple in on herself, the grief causing her muscles to rebel against her. Nick crouched on the floor by her side, holding her close, crying along with her, oblivious to the staring patrons, rocking her gently, as she leaned on him, clutching his shirt between her fingers and sobbing into his neck. All pretence of composure and etiquette lost to the darkness just outside the windows.

"Hey, it's ok momma, it's all going to be ok. Its ok, none of it's your fault. I love you, I love you momma. It's going to be alright."

Everything would work out fine.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

As Nick bundled his silent mother into the car he couldn't help but feel a little resentment towards Sara. He loved her with all he had, but this…this was her fault. If she'd only kept quiet none of this would have happened. He wasn't an idiot, he knew he wasn't _over it, _that he probably never would be unless he faced up to what had happened, a part of which would surely include telling his mother and working through the blame he placed on his parents. The blame he would deny until the end of time, but that lay there, squatting inside his brain, oftentimes without him even being conscious of it. His problem was that it should have been his choice, he should have been able to decide when and how to reveal his secret, now he just felt like he'd been thrown into it, blindsided by his own anxieties and hurt.

Nick had barely opened his mothers hotel room door when his father was on his feet, striding towards him, obviously irritated. Jillian had been quiet for most of the journey, protesting only half heartedly when Nick said he'd take her back to the hotel and catch a cab home. The Judges voice betrayed nothing of his own feelings of uncertainty regarding how he'd dealt with Nick following his heartbreaking revelation. Sara had left him rattled and he now questioned whether he had truly acted in his sons best interests. Although the doubt had plagued him since Sara had left him back to his suite his focus right now was solely on his clearly disturbed wife. He knew without asking that Nick had said something.

"Jilly, honey, what is it, what's wrong?"

Jillian practically threw herself into her husband's arms, sinking onto the couch with him. He cradled her close to his strong chest, rocking her gently in his arms, pleading with her to tell him what was wrong, knowing deep down that he didn't want to know that she knew. He wished he could erase her memory. He loved her with every fibre of his being, and would have given anything to protect her from the pain that now engulfed her. He'd chosen her over his baby boy 14 years ago, and now she knew anyway, as it stood, she was broken hearted and he'd apparently sacrificed his son for nothing. William Stokes the Second now came abruptly to the realisation that he'd really fucked up. He wasn't a stupid man, he knew that once Jillian had calmed down she'd want to know what had happened, the very fact that she was clinging to him so fervently was proof enough that she had no idea of the role he'd played in concealing the truth from her, he only hoped the fallout from it all wouldn't be irreversible. Thoughts spun and twirled through his brain, while Nick stood forgotten on the threshold of the room, trying valiantly to stem the flow of his own tears. He was only remembered when, as was often the case with the Judge, anxiety manifested itself as anger and his father's eyes demanded the answers his mouth asked for.

"What the hell did you do Nick? What did you say to her?"

He only ever refrained from calling him Nicholas when he was too pissed off to remember to annoy him with his full title. This wasn't looking good. Nick took a few steps further into the room, one arm cradling his ribs, the other thrown out in protest at the accusation he'd acted badly towards his mother.

"Look…dad…just calm down, ok. She knows alright, she knows…"

"Jesus Nick, can you see what you've done to her, what did I tell you! I told you this would happen…this is exactly why I told you not to tell her! What the hell were you thinking, or were you just being the screw up you always have been and neglecting to give any thought to the situation at all!"

Nick struggled with the tears that were perched on his eyelashes. He wasn't going to cry, he'd heard it all before from his father, his only concern now was his mom. He kneeled beside her, ignoring the glare his dad threw at him, running his hand down her back, trying in vain to soothe her pain.

"Mom, please…please don't cry…momma, I'm sorry, just please, forget about it, it's over, ok, it's all going to be ok."

His mothers usually strong voice was cracked and choked with sorrow, her words disjointed, though the meaning was clear.

"Nicky…I…I don't know what to say to you…I just can't bare it. I can't bare to look at you."

Nick felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his whole body flushed hot and immediately cold, every nerve ending seemed to tingle and protest at his very existence. His mom wouldn't even look at him. He recoiled from her, and stumbled towards the door of the hotel room, he felt sick; he just needed to get the hell out of there. He was so intent on getting away from his parents that he barely heard his mothers whisper.

"I let him down Bill."

* * *

Sara was struggling to pay attention to the evidence she was processing. She stood opposite Warrick in the layout room, ALS-ing a bed sheet for no real reason. Warrick's chocolaty voice startled her from her thoughts.

"You want to talk about it Frisco?"

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile at the nickname.

"I'm fine thanks Vegas."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…I'm good, just a little tired I guess."

"Nick been keeping you up?"

Sara's laugh confused Warrick until he thought about what he'd actually said and found himself joining in the laughter.

"I don't think the layout room is really the appropriate place to discuss my sex life 'Rick."

"Jees, Sar, get your mind out of the gutter, I meant the nightmares."

Seeing the confliction on Sara's face, Warrick felt the need to elaborate.

"He a…he mentioned that he hadn't been sleeping too good the other night when I took him home…is he ok Sar, I mean, I know if I ask him he'll just bullshit me, but you can tell me y'know. It just seems like this case, the attack, it's all pretty heavy shit and you know how Nick is, always having to be "ok", I guess I'm just a little worried about him…about you too. Talk to me Sar."

Sara kept her head down; fiddling with the orange glasses she'd just taken off. She didn't know what to do, knew she couldn't betray Nick's confidence, but that he could probably use a friend like Warrick right now. She hardly dared look up, knowing that Warricks warm sea green eyes would bore a hole straight to her heart if she let them. He was a hard man to evade.

"It's fine Warrick, he's just having a rough time right now, and then with his dad being in town…you know how he gets when "The Judge" is around…I just…I wish he could catch a break, and now I feel like I'm just making everything harder for him…I kind of yelled at his dad earlier…he doesn't know yet…but I imagine Bill will take great pleasure in recounting all the details to him."

"Whoa, sounds kinda rough."

"Yea…and Nicks phone is going straight to voicemail, so I can't even get in there first."

A heavy silence fell over the room, Sara was pretending to process again, but Warrick wasn't through. He could feel the tension that radiated off Sara. She looked very much like someone with the weight of the world on her shoulders. He broke the silence once more, hoping to draw a little more information out of Sara.

"I heard Annabel is pleading guilty, Nicky was really rooting for her huh? Seems a shame to let her life go to waste like that, to leave her kid without anybody, it's rough."

"Yea, the only saving grace seems to be that with her evidence there's a chance Lynch will be prosecuted too, though I don't hold out much hope for them finding him. It seems he's been MIA since he was released."

"I heard they'd scheduled her arraignment for tomorrow afternoon, you think Nicky will want to go?"

Sara sighed; she wasn't really sure how good a judge she was when it came to Nick these days.

"I dunno Warrick, his head's all over the place. Part of me thinks that seeing Annabell will only make things worse, but maybe if he sees for himself that there's nothing more he can do he might actually drop it all. I just wish I knew what to do to make it better. He just seems so sad…so "un-Nick." I don't really know what he'll decide to do."

"Yea, I hear ya…Don't sweat it Sar, our boy is gonna be just fine. He always bounces back from these things. He'll make the right decisions."

* * *

Across town Nick sat in a dingy bar, hitting the bar tender up for another shot. He really wasn't a heavy drinker anymore, hadn't been drunk since his college days when he'd been a disreputable frat brother. His now weakened tolerance for alcohol, coupled with his exhaustion and fragile emotional state had left him feeling a little fuzzy as he chugged back his sixth shot of the evening. He hadn't been able to face going home, though he wasn't sure if it was for fear that Sara would be there, or fear that she wouldn't be. He didn't want to be alone, yet craved unadulterated silence. He truly was an enigma.

He'd been told many times that the answer didn't lie at the bottom of a bottle, but these where shot glasses…and who knew if anyone had checked for the answers in the bottom of one of them. He hadn't found the answer yet, but figured he owed it to science to have a few more, just so he could document his results from a representative sample. He downed another glass before pushing his glass towards the bartender, not bothering to look to see if he was being poured a glass or not. Nick Stokes was on the verge of wallowing in self pity when the aging bartender's voice parted the fog in his brain.

"I think you've had enough kid, go home, sleep it off, thing's look better in the morning…huh?"

Nick lifted his bleary eyes towards the voice, wanting nothing more than to agree and tumble off his stool and back into a cab. Head home, find Sara and fall into bed. He wished he'd never come to a bar after leaving his parents in the first place. Heading home…yea…that sounded like a pretty nice plan. He probably would have put it all into action too, had it not been for the sight of a familiar face, visible just to the right of the barman's head.

There he was, plain as day, sitting without a care in the world, nursing a pint of beer and chatting to a burly guy who sat next to him. Stan Lynch lifted his hand to signal the bartender and instantly Nick's eyes locked on his.

Looks like the party wasn't over just yet. All that remained to be seen now was whether it was Nick Stokes or Stanley Lynch that had picked the wrong bar to walk into...

* * *

AN...uh--ohh...That's probably all I have to say about that one...Thanks again for all those who are reading and especially those reviewing. Also thanks for the patience, the reviews have been a little less frequent, but hopefully the next one will be up pretty soon. Take it easy, and feel free to leave any comments. A...


	22. Chapter 22

* * *

The bar seemed to fall completely silent save for the noise of two bar stools scrapping along the floor as Nick and Lynch stood in synchronicity. They eyeballed each other Wild West style. Nick could feel the alcohol run out of his veins, instantly feeling sober, even if he was far from anything like it. Lynch considered the situation. He was a wanted man, standing opposite a "cop", a pretty drunk cop by the looks of it, but a cop none the less. He was also surrounded by a bunch of "rednecks" that would probably tear him to shreds if csi guy decided to point fingers and list crimes. No one was moving, each looking at the other, silently daring them to make their move. It was lynch that moved first, Nick saw his eyes flicker before he reacted, he groaned internally and prepared himself for what was about to go down.

Lynch shoved past his drinking companion and darted towards the rear exit of the bar. It took Nick mere seconds to react and hightail it after him. Son of a bitch if he was going to get away with what he'd done.

Nicks legs moved of their own volition, he was surprisingly steady considering the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. The crisp night air forced the air from his aching lungs as he burst through the emergency exit after Stan.

Lynch had gotten a good head start on Nick, but his footsteps could be heard echoing through the alleyway both men now charged down. Lynch did his best to block his path, pulling dustbins into the middle of the alley in a bid to lay Nick out. The man was panicking, he had contacts, "friends", who had let him know that Mike was dead and Annabell had rolled over on them, he knew there would be trouble If Stokes caught up with him.

Nicks heart pounded in his chest as he chased the fugitive, jumping over the obstacles in his way, his focus solely on having Lynch by the throat. That thought alone driving his aching muscles onwards. He could see lynch scrambling over a chest high fence that separated the alley from a more open stretch of road behind a disused warehouse. He grabbed the top of the barrier with one hand, vaulting himself over it in one bound, just like cops do in the movies; unfortunately his landing wasn't so movie-smooth. His right leg crumbled under him as he landed, a distinct pop echoing through the silent night as fire shot through his knee, taking his breath away. He threw his hands out to break his fall when he landed. Pain shot up his fractured arm and radiated through his chest. As he rolled on the ground he could still hear lynch's footsteps reverberating off the walls of the tall buildings on either side.

Nick prayed his silent curses into the dark night sky, fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't going to let it end like this, this wasn't how it was going to end, he was wasting time, he had to just get up, get up and catch him.

"Come-on Stokes, come-on man, fuck you man, get the fuck up, get up you son of a bitch, it doesn't even hurt man, come-on, just get up, just do it, do what you always do, do just like always, cowboy-the-fuck-up."

He willed himself to move, even as his hands wrapped protectively round his injured knee, cradling the throbbing limb, biting back the tears. It wasn't over yet, he was down, but he wasn't out. Nick's scream bounded down the alley, chasing Lynch as he made his move, pushing himself off the ground, refusing to let himself fall again. Soon two sets of footsteps could be heard once more as Nick thundered down the alleyway again.

As the alley widened to form some semblance of a courtyard all bets were off. It was a dead end; Lynch had to be here somewhere. The air was heavy with anticipation as Nick ground to a halt, momentarily hopping on one leg as the other stuttered over whether it wanted to stay up or go down. In an act of good fortune his knee chose to stick with him and so he stood in the middle of the courtyard with his weight resting tentatively on his injured leg. His eyes darted round in the darkness, ears pricked up, listening, waiting for any sign of movement. His own steps were signalled by the slight splash produced as he shuffled his feet across the wet ground through shallow puddles. He thought long of his gun, sitting silently in his locker, missing the weight from his hip. He was twisting in the wind and he knew it. He waited. Waited to see if he'd feel a cold thud against his chest, or maybe hear the whistle before it hit his head. Nothing happened; Lynch obviously wasn't packing tonight either.

Nick continued to pivot on the spot, straining to see the dark within the dark. He saw the shadows waltzing across the building, shadows touching shadows hands, but he couldn't see Lynch. He slid his hand into his pants pocket, momentarily lighting the darkness with a bright blue as he flipped open his cell phone, he'd barely hit dial before he felt the sharp crack across his chest and the ground rushed towards him.

"Took your eye off the ball huh Nicky."

Fuck.

Nick gasped for breath as Stan's foot crashed down on his back, pinning him to the wet ground. He could vaguely make out the steel bar that swung loosely by Lynch's side. This didn't look good. His cell phone lay a few feet away from him, he had no idea if he'd dialled someone or not. He couldn't remember if his phone would dial the last person he'd called or the first person in his phonebook, figured he'd be fucked if it dialled the last number he'd called, since he was pretty sure it'd been the Chinese take out. He wasn't sure Moses-Mae could take this guy out, though right now he guessed she'd do for a start.

"You know what I like about you Stokes? It's that look in your eyes. So noble, so determined, so fucking green it scares me. I bet you do this job _to make a difference._Huh? I'm right, right? Come-on now Nicky, don't be shy, tell me I'm right, tell me you just want to get justice for the victims, huh. That's what it is, isn't it. You really do believe you can win. It's kinda endearing Nicky, I gotta tell you. You ever wonder where your empathy is gonna get you? Oh, but, hey now, looky here, looks like you're all alone Stokes, you got the heat now, huh? You gonna bring it to me? Take me in, cuff me up nice and tight, read me my rights? You gonna make me pay for making Mikey cry? Answer me mother fucker!"

Nick felt the edges of his world shake and his eyes slip in and out of focus as Lynch punctuated every sentence with a sharp kick to his already battered ribcage. Nick wondered if these were all rhetorical questions.

"Answer me!"

I guess not. His voice was coarse, would have been rough to the touch if someone could have felt it.

"Fuck you."

Lynch's laugh echoed through the air.

"Fuck me! Is that what you said? That what you want Nicky? You wanna fuck me? See cause I like 'em a little younger if you catch my meaning…though I guess I can pretend…yea, you can pretend too huh? You got some _ex-peeer-ience_ don't you little Nicky. You remember what it was like? You like it? I bet you did, all saddled up. You know I got done as a kid too, it's how it all starts, "learned behaviour", that's what the white coats would call it. See it's not my fault, none of it, I am the man I was born to be Nicky."

Nick struggled to compose himself, he knew he needed to get back in the game, but now Lynch was so close to him, whispering in his ear, his breath hot and wet caressing his cheek, threatening to catapult him back to 1980. His stomach burned and he couldn't breathe as Lynch launched another assault.

He closed his eyes, waiting, always waiting. Waiting for Lynch to make his next move. As it happened he didn't have to wait too long. He saw the flash of the metal pole as Stan swung it above his head, preparing to end the game by creating a little blood spatter. Nick took the opportunity to force his body off the ground, rolling and twisting to send Lynch off balance. He felt, more than saw, the man fall backwards on to the ground, wincing at the sickening thud that reverberated as the scumbags head connected with the ground. Nick pressed on, pushing himself to his feet, staggering towards the fallen man before slumping to his knees beside him, the metal bar having somehow found its way into his hand.

It was at times like this you discovered what you were really made off. It would be so easy to just crack the mother-fuckers head open. To let it all go and to hell with the consequences. The air was still though the scene was momentarily lit as clouds moved from their position to allow the moon to chance a look. The alleyway glowed as if lit by candles, the clouds had stopped moving, but the first spots of rain could be felt hitting the ground, though everything seemed to have been muted. Paused as the night stood in quiet contemplation. In judgement.

Nick was lost in his own thoughts, his eyes locked on Lynch's motionless body, the blow to the head having rendered him temporarily unconscious. The stillness was interrupted by the distinct sound of sirens wailing, probably about a block away. Nick stretched his body until his fingers curled round his cell, he chuckled a little. Looks like he'd called his uncle Jimmy after all. The display showed he was still connected to, _Brass, J._ Now all he had to do was sit tight and wait for the ever dependable cavalry to arrive and take the decision out of his hands, literally.

The bar felt inexplicably heavy, growing heavier as Lynch began to stir.

"Stay down man, just stay there, ok, please man, just give it up."

Nicks voice sounded pathetic even to himself. Pleading with a paedophile was probably not the wisest thing he could have done.

"Fuck you Stokes!"

Nicks moment of despair and hopelessness was replaced by the anger he'd felt bubbling inside him for days.

"Yea... you know what…why not? Why not get up and try? Just get up and try to fuck me brother. You want to know something Stanley? I'm so damn tired I could cry, I'm at the end y'know, I've reached my limit, I can't do it anymore, so come on man, come on! You just get up and you try it, because I ain't got nothin' to lose, and I'm tellin' you man, I will FUCK. YOU. UP!"

Stanley Lynch chose this point to make one of the only good decisions he'd ever made in life. He lay back down on the ground, holding his hands out in front of him, waiting quietly for the cops to get there and cuff him up.

Brass arrived minutes later, with 5 uniforms and Grissom close behind. Lynch was dragged to his feet and cuffed; Brass chose to skip the obligatory "we nailed your ass" speech and moved instead to pull Nick onto his shaky legs. It was over, at least it should have been. It would have been, had it not been for Stan's departing words.

"We're just the same Nicky…you and I…We share a common experience, we both got fucked up when we was kids. It's a circle man, you can't fight it, it's your destiny Nicky!"

Nick wasn't at the edge anymore, he was somewhere entirely different, somewhere worse, he wanted to be on the edge again. There's only so much a man can handle before the touch paper catches fire. They call it the straw that breaks the camels back. The fuse was lit, now it was only a matter of time before Nick stokes went off with a bang.

Tick-Tock….

AN: hummm...Tick-Tock...Tick-Tock...


	23. Chapter 23

* * *

Nick was vaguely aware of Jims body pressed against his, holding him upright as his body started to give in to the exhaustion. Lynch's final blow hurt worse than all the others combined. Nick Stokes was just like the old cliché, an open book. Lynch had seen it from the moment he'd come face to face with him, knew he was struggling from the very start, and finally knew exactly where to hit him as he was lead back down the alleyway towards the cop cars.

"It's your destiny"

The words sat inside Nicks head, slowly sinking into his brain, like honey off a spoon, slow at first, then all at once. Nicks arms pushed weakly against Jim's chest, he couldn't breathe, the black of the night was slashed with colours, reds and blues and greens and purples, so many colours all slip sliding past each other. He felt his legs trying to give way, the adrenaline running done, leaving him with a bitch of a pain in his knee. He could feel the cold of the night inside his bones, as if to confirm his realisation that it was freezing his body let loose a fierce shiver. He stopped his feeble fight to be released from Jims grasp and instead leaned into the warmth of the figure holding him up, somehow suddenly unaware of who it was, or where he was. Only one thought could find its way through the fog. What if Lynch was right?

Tick….Tock

Jim was struggling to hold Nick upright, and was fast becoming worried about the young mans well being. His face was deathly white, glowing eerily in the moonlight. It was obvious he'd hurt his leg, and the rasped breath sounds indicated his chest had taken another beating. Brass turned to Grissom, feeling genuinely helpless. It wasn't the first time Jim Brass had found himself unsure of what to do, but it was the first time in many years that he couldn't muster up the will to pretend he had a plan, to act like he had all the answers.

"Christ Gil, look at the state of him."

Grissom remained calm, ever the scientist, assessing the situation, offering a banal comment. It wasn't that he didn't care so much as Brass, he just didn't know how to let it show, and so, in typical Grissom style he turned to the thing in his life that was guaranteed to be free of complication. Science was just science after all.

"He's going into shock."

Unsurprisingly the clinical approach was winning no points with an emotionally charged Brass.

"Oh really! No shit Sherlock, now I know why they pay you the big bucks! Just help me…can you just…just grab his arm…we need to get him someplace warm."

"Look Jim, I'll call a medic. He can't put any weight on his leg; his knee looks like it could be dislocated."

Nick's head had lolled forward and now rolled gently on his chest, the effort of holding it upright was too much, all he wanted to do right now was close his eyes and drift away. He could vaguely hear suggestions of an ambulance. Fuck that.

"M'ok…m'ok…just tired…so tired…Jim?"

He wasn't sure that he was going to convince anyone, but he didn't really care. He knew he'd feel like an idiot for calling Jims name, probably not tonight though, maybe tomorrow. He just couldn't escape from what Lynch had said, and Jim knew, he knew- he knew, he'd understand, he'd say it was ok.

"Hey it's ok kid, I'm right here, it's ok Nicky, I'm not goin' anywhere."

Jim shuffled Nick a little, now slinging the injured mans arm round his neck, supporting his weight with his hip, Grissom was perched on the other side as they stuttered down the damp alley, propelling Nick forward.

"M'not like him."

Nick's voice was barely a whisper, the sound grinding out of his mouth, as if from somewhere else entirely. It didn't sound like Nick. At least not the Nick they'd ever known. The meaning of Nicks words was lost on Jim, assumed to be the ramblings of his fatigued and semi-conscious mind, he reassured him without a moments hesitation. Anything to make Nicky feel better.

"Hey, I know, I know, it's ok, you're ok. Look Grissom lets just keep going, we're nearly back at the car, we can take him to the emergency room ourselves."

"I really don't think we should be moving him…and how do you suggest we get him over the fence, we barely managed to get ourselves over it!"

"Look, we'll deal with that when we get there, just…just keep going ok, he's ok, he's goin' to be ok."

* * *

They were thankful that when they got to the fence in question two of the uniforms had stayed back. It really didn't take five men to arrest one person. They managed to get Nick over the fence with minimal difficulty. Nick remained silent throughout the manoeuvre, a fact that served to unsettle rather than pacify Grissom. By his reckoning Nick would be in serious pain as the injured knee began to swell, he really should be making more noise. Grissom watched Nick closely as he once again attempted to stand on his own two feet as it were. The bitten back curse wasn't lost on Gil either as Nick propped himself up against Jim's car, sucking in air through his teeth. He was composing himself, getting ready to start the lies. Grissom didn't know it, but he actually had a front row seat to Nick's infamous and well concealed cowboy-up routine. Gil took note of the practised ritual, waiting for the show to begin, he knew it was coming, just found it hard to believe Nick was really this stupid so as to rail against the help he so desperately needed. He was so engrossed in watching he took an extra second to register that Nick was talking to him. His voice was much stronger than it had been back in the alleyway.

"Gris….my knees dislocated."

"I thought it might be. We should get you to the hospital before it has a chance to swell any further or you'll be at risk for serious complications."

"S'too late, I got pins and needles in my leg, we got about six minutes before I lose the feeling in my foot, must-a trapped a nerve when it popped…I don't feel so good, m'dizzy, blood pressure s'too high…"

Even as the words left his mouth Nick was sliding further down the side of the car, sinking almost completely to the ground, one leg outstretched, the other struggling to keep him upright as he used all his effort to keep his back pressed against the side of the car so as to keep himself as close to upright as he could.

"Umm…look, it's fine Nick, we'll get you to the A&E, Brass can put the sirens on, we'll be there in less than ten minutes, lets just get moving ok? Can you get yourself into the car?"

Nick shook his head.

"Gris, it'll take too long…yer gonna have'ta just pop it back in here."

"What! Nick I'm not a real doctor! You know that right? I'm not a medical doctor, I'm like a bug doctor, I don't just pop things places…Jim will you talk to him, tell him we need to get to the hospital."

"Gris…please, you know we need to move quick on this, just shove it back in and we can go to t'hospital later."

"…just shove it back in…"

"I'll talk you through it."

"You'll talk me through it? You really are delirious; you're not even a bug doctor! You're just going to talk me through it…he's going to talk me through it."

"Jesus, Gris, please, just…just for once…have some fucking faith in me…in my judgement. I can't put it back in myself, I'll tell you what to do, just come here. Jim, need y'too hold m'down, so I don't kick him."

"You sure about this Nicky?"

Nicks only answer was a nod as he allowed himself to slide down until he was sitting against the driver's door, breathing deeply. He jerked his head towards Jim, indicating that he should hold him against the door.

Nick had dislocated his knee once before. Hurt like the fire of Hades. Championship game during his final year at college. There was a talent scout there to watch him: that in itself was probably a good indication that he would somehow manage to fuck up. Story of his life, rewound and played again…maybe someday the tape would wear out. He'd been having the game of his life, obviously pissing the hell out of the opposition. It was back in the days when he could pull of the cocky bastard look, accompanied by a nifty little swagger. He talked the talk. His father said he'd been asking for it. The illegal tackle that left him blinded by pain, cussing and moaning on the pitch, flat out on his back, wondering if his leg was still attached. It was…just not at the right angle. The coach had elected to put it back right there and then, to give him as good a chance as he could of playing again. He'd watched the tape so many times he was sure he'd be able to talk Grissom through it, he only wondered if this time he'd stay conscious till the end.

Nick took Grissoms hands in his own, positioning them on either side of his knee, wishing he could suck on some of the magic gas and air before things went any further. He was getting weaker, felt cold all over, knew he'd probably be unconscious the second Grissom applied some pressure.

"You feel how it's offset…you just got to pull my leg real hard…straighten it all t'way out, n'then twist it to the left until you feel the click…ok…s'easy, you'll be fine Gris…just make it quick, don't stop once you start…just do…"

The end of Nicks pep talk was drowned by the less than manly scream that was emitted from his mouth as Grissom just…did it…Nick's body jack knifed as the fire sparked through him, only Jim throwing his entire weight against him prevented Grissom being knocked out cold.

* * *

In the wake of the emergency relocation Nick was lying on his back, staring at the night sky, eyes closed, though not unconscious…he just lay there, trying to control his breathing, tensing his body as Grissom and Jim tied a shirt around his knee in an effort to keep it from falling out. A though that made Nick sick to his stomach. All in all, it seemed to have been a success, now they all just needed a moment of calm…a moment to compose themselves.

They'd managed to create an atmosphere fit for a yoga class before it was disrupted by Grissom, who obviously felt he'd allowed Nick enough time to recover before launching into his lecture,

"What the hell did you think you were doing Nick, chasing after a dangerous criminal, without a weapon, and no doubt intoxicated?"

Tick…Tock…

"I was just trying to do my job."

"Since when is this, your job? You're not a cop anymore Nick, you know that. I can't understand why you chose to make such reckless decisions all the time."

Tick…Tock…

"Oh…great! So _I'm _the reckless one. You're the one that left me alone in an unsecured crime scene so you could go play with some bugs! You really think I'm the biggest screw up you have to deal with!? AND! I got the guy didn't I!?"

As much as Jim was enjoying seeing Nicky man-up and shred the big boss man, he needed to see a doctor, and they all needed to get out of the cold.

"Hey now…ok…lets wrap it up boys, we can all come back tomorrow and piss at each other some more, but right now, Nicky, you need to go to a hospital…and Grissom, we need to get down to the station and have a chat with our friend Stanley."

"I'm going to the station; I want to be there for the interview!"

"Even you're not that stupid Nick! You just dislocated your knee, and judging by the way you keep furtively hugging your chest I'm guessing you racked up another couple of broken ribs, we're taking you to the hospital. Jim. We're taking him to the hospital."

Tick…Tock…

Jim was suddenly glad Ellie had been an only child. He rubbed his temples, struggling to see the funny side, though he was sure there was one.

"I'm not a kid Gris, despite what you might believe. I'm going to the station. Jim. I'm coming to the station…now…of y'all could just give me a hand up, we can get goin'"

"Brass! You're not seriously going to let him go to the station like this!"

Jim was almost certain he could hear a ticking clock. Why did he always have to be the grown up.

"Hey, we both know I'm just too damn pretty to be either of your momma's, so no, I'm not going to _let_Nick do anything. I'm going to allow him chose whether or not he does a dipshit thing and skips the hospital, or whether he goes like a good little soldier and gets his boo-boo fixed up. It's called autonomy Gris and you gotta love it…right?"

Brass almost wished he had a camera...this really was a kodak moment. Gilbert Grissom was actually pouting. While Nick grinned like a kid who just found out he gets two birthdays.

* * *

In predictable Nick fashion he chose the dipshit option and wouldn't you know it…it turned out to be slightly worse than he'd predicted it would be. Even before he'd made it to the entrance of the station he knew something wasn't quite right. He really did feel like shit. He'd also clocked Sara's car in the car park and knew she'd be pissed that he'd turned his phone off…though he reasoned he was pissed that she'd blown his childhood secret less than a week after he'd confided in her, and to his mother no less…so he figured if he came down to it he probably had his own pretty solid grounds for being more pissed. When he eventually made it through the door…unassisted of course, since it wasn't enough to be a dipshit, you had to be uber stubborn along with it…he was greeted with the last thing in the world he wanted to see. Jim wondered vaguely if he should start chewing tobacco and dinging it into a spittoon…unless he was very much mistaken they hadn't entered the police station…but a bad b-movie western. It was his first standoff, and he looked on curiously as two sets of brown eyes locked.

Forget about the good the bad and the ugly…we got the Judge verses….well…the criminalist. Maybe not quite the makings of a good movie…but pretty damn tense all the same.

Gillian had eventually stopped crying long enough to realise Nick had left and had instantly wanted to hold him, to apologise…to make it up to him. She'd subsequently enlisted her husband to help her find him… and so it came to be that Nick had dragged himself into the station, looking like crap to face the judgement of his immaculately dressed father, who stood complete with blazing disapproval.

"What the hell you got yourself into now!"

Tick…tick…tick….

"Dad…mom…"

Nick nodded curtly.

"You just never learn do you?"

Nick shuffled closer to his parents, his mother moving to embrace him, held back by his father.

"Bill…please…I know its all come as a shock, but he's our baby, he needs us. This doesn't change anything Nicky, I'm just so sorry. Your fathers just having a little trouble adjusting to the news is all."

"Gillian, you've seen him now, you know he's ok, lets go."

Nick stepped closer; he was standing right in front of his father now, addressing him, though he was answering his mother.

"Oh…whoa…yea…that's really something isn't it mom…how the news has thrown him for a loop. I guess 16 years really isn't so long when it comes to dealing with this kind of thing."

The room fell deadly silent, Grissom mildly bewildered, Jim begging the ground to just open up and take him wherever it pleased.

"You son of a bitch!"

Nicks only regret was that he'd have to live with the cry that escaped his mother's mouth. It was chocked by a half sob as she wielded round, fixing her husband with her legendary court house stare.

"You knew…."

"…listen Gilly, this isn't the time."

The judge wrapped his hands around her arms, trying in vain to draw her close to him. She shook herself free, managing to leave a nice set of red finger marks across her husbands face as she slapped him before dashing towards the ladies room, sick to her stomach.

The judge rounded on his youngest son.

"Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted! You always did have impeccable timing, always choosing inopportune moments to screw up!"

Tick

"I always knew you were going to be the screw up, never anything like your brother, always so clingy and sickly. You never could manage to toe the line."

Tick

"You know what Nicholas…you deserved everything you got that night, you.-…."

Boom….

Nicks fist connected with his fathers chin with such force you could hear his jaw crack in rhythm with the popping of Nick's knuckles. The sound of the judge hitting the ground reverberated round the walls while Nick hissed and shook out his fist. He really had nothing left to say to his father anymore...well maybe just one thing.

"Fuck you."

* * *

AN...hummm...This was a pretty long chapter so thanks for sticking with it, I hope it wasn't a huge slog. I feel like I should confess...I've wanted Nick to hit his dad for a while now...although i'm not sure if i've taken him too far away from is character...As always thanks to the readers and reviewers, I really love to hear feedback. so yea, if you have any thoughts or feelings you want to share...or any typos to point out lol feel free to drop a line. Take it easy. A


	24. Chapter 24

* * *

Sara was on her fourth coffee of the night, trying to keep herself awake, and to keep her mind off Nick. His phone was still going straight to voicemail and though she knew that fact was unlikely to change, she still insisted on calling him every 15 minutes. This hadn't gone unnoticed by Warrick, who was studying her closely.

"Hey, it's gonna be ok Sar…Nick's a stubborn guy, you know that. He'll come round; he couldn't stay mad at you if he tried. Whatever it is you did, it can't be that bad y'know. Just give him a little time to sulk, or blow off some steam."

Sara replied without conscious thought. Warrick really had no idea what she'd done. She didn't truly understand the ramifications herself.

"Yea…I'm sure you're right."

"Yea? You don't sound so convinced Frisco."

Even the soft tease of Warrick's voice couldn't draw a smile this time, as tears escaped past her long eyelashes and chased each other down her cheeks. She sniffled quietly; trying to catch the salty water with her sleeve, save Warrick might see her being human.

"It's complicated."

"Relationships usually are."

His tone was so easy, so free that Sara couldn't stop the tears falling faster, she didn't bother to try and hide them any longer, though she was grateful that Warrick exercised discretion and turned away from her slightly, choosing not to hand her a tissue from the box on the counter behind him. He evidently knew her better than she would have given him credit for.

"I've screwed up 'Rick. I said something I shouldn't have said and I have a bad feeling that the fallout is going to be cosmic. I just. I can' help it, I just…I want him to be ok. Nick's just…God Warrick he's so tired. I just wish I could make it better…I wish I could just take it all back."

"Hey, I'm sure it can't be as bad as all that. Nick loves you Sar, that's not about to change anytime soon."

"I really hope you're right about that."

"I'd put money on it."

Warrick waited for Sara to respond. It took her longer than usual, but when she did he was glad to note the teasing tone. He could feel the smile in her words.

"…anyone ever tell you you got a gambling problem Vegas?"

She was going to be ok.

* * *

Nicks moment of triumph over the oppressive force of his father was short lived. The feeling of guilt hit him suddenly, overwhelmingly. He'd made a bad choice, could rationalise it by citing any number of tortuously shitty things that he'd lived through in the last few weeks, but everyone knows there's no point in lying to yourself. He watched, frozen in place as Jim and Grissom hauled his father to his feet. The Judge looked disoriented, but it was clear moments later that the punch hadn't knocked any, proverbial sense, into him.

"I didn't think they paid you enough here to afford a lawyer."

Nick didn't bother to respond, knew where it was going, figured he wasn't making great choices so far tonight, thought now was as good a time as any to climb aboard the "shut up and don't make it worse train." There really was a difference between standing up for yourself and facing a lawsuit that would hold a price tag he really couldn't afford.

The judge stared his son down, while Grissom and Brass tried to look inconspicuous, they'd be the ones whistling in the background had it been a movie. It wasn't until the judge turned his attention to them that the previously silent men found their voices.

"Will one of you please go and locate my wife, and the other one, well… you can start writing your witness statement. You are both witnesses to the assault which just occurred. I'll be calling my attorney with the details, so try not to leave anything out."

Brass was momentarily dumbfounded at the audacity of the man. He was making his son miserable and now he wanted to add to it all by bringing a ridiculous lawsuit. Fucking unbelievable. Jim Brass wasn't a man to tolerate fools gladly. He couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"What the hell! Can't you see what you're doing. Are you out of your fucking mind! This is your son! Your little boy, you're just going to hang him out to dry? You think that's what he needs from a father?! You know what…you're not fit to lick his boots, and as for the "assault", I seem to recall you tripping on your shoelace, but I'll be sure to write it all down, just incase you want to sue the shoe manufacturer."

The judge looked briefly at his highly polished shoes before snapping his gaze towards Jim, fixing him in place, addressing him with a tone that demanded he act with caution.

"I urge you not to make a mistake here Captain Brass. Don't back the wrong horse here, because only one of us is finishing the race, and I can assure you it won't be Nicholas, so why don't you think a little harder before you commit yourself to anything."

Nick was struggling to stay focused, he could feel the sweat pooling under his shirt collar, his leg was ridiculously heavy and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to pass out. He felt like he'd just smoked a joint, the pictures swam a little while the audio was waterlogged and the corridor tripped over itself to hem him in somehow. Claustrophobic. That's how he felt. He needed the arguing to stop. The noise was fracturing his skull, quickly destroying any semblance of reason he'd once had. His voice sounded like crisp autumn leaves crunching under foot as he forced himself to speak, the sound was not quite a noise, more a feeling. It couldn't be a good sign. He briefly entertained the thought that he should have just gone to the hospital, that he'd no doubt been kicked in the head and was suffering some kind of acid trip in lieu of a sensible reaction.

"Jim, please, just leave it, do whatever he wants."

Jim was struck that it was Nick that was speaking. He didn't sound good, defeated and weary, he wished now that he'd insisted he go to the hospital, to hell with being his mother, he did know what was fucking best for the kid. If he'd paused for thought he would have understood that Nick just didn't need this right now, that they could fight through the details of the cover story later if need be. Brass was so consumed with the sense of injustice at the situation, not to mention the borderline contempt he had for the judge, that his tone was harsh and disbelieving.

"Nick! You're not serious, you're just goin' to let him walk all over you, come-on Nicky, you're still in the game."

"…Jim, please, I'm so fuckin' tired man, can't do it anymore. Just do whatever he wants."

The grease that dripped from the Judges words was almost tangible.

"Ah, at last, it seems you've finally realised that you can't win this one. You were out of line boy and we both know it. Captain Brass, if you could just hold off arresting him he can go and find his mother and tell her that he misremembered the details of his "abuse.""

Nick sighed deeply, hugging his chest and wavering slightly on his injured leg. He just wanted to sit down, or maybe sleep for a thousand years. He suddenly wanted to have his head on Sara's lap, to have her combing her fingers through his hair. God he just wanted to be someplace else, someplace safe and warm and lovely. Not here though, not right now. He didn't even care that Sara had said what she'd said. She was right, even if she did go about it the wrong way. He figured he'd adopted a pretty vacant look right then, because Jim was talking to him again, but he wasn't so mad anymore, he was back to being his favourite "uncle".

"Nicky, you ok kid?"

Nick nodded weakly as he gravitated towards the wall, slumping heavily against it.

Jim kept his eyes trained on Nick, watching him closely, taking note of his slightly laboured breath sounds, of the way his arms hugged his chest, of the unsteadiness and of the sweat that laced his brow. The kid looked like shit. While Brass watched Nick, Grissom watched Brass, waiting for some kind of indication of what they should do. Though seeing that Jim was otherwise engaged in charting what Grissom suspected was a pretty neat checklist to indicate internal bleeding, he decided to take the reigns so they could get the Judge gone and Nick to an ER before he collapsed.

"Look…Judge Stokes, I'm sure if we all just calm down a little we can maintain some perspective. Nick obviously isn't feeling too good, and things have been said that shouldn't have been, and we're all a little emotional right now, so why don't I call a cab and have it take you and your wife back to your hotel and we can just deal with this tomorrow. Let's just sleep on it ok. We'll all feel better tomorrow."

Nick had missed the end of Grissoms speech, but suspected it was a good one…or a really boring one…either way, the Judge had started to move towards the end of the corridor in search of his wife.

Grissoms voice held a note of panic as he moved to stand beside Nick, taking one of the injured mans arms and attempting to swing it over his own shoulder, motioning for Jim to get the other side. Nick was unimpressed by Grissoms attempt at supporting his weight and jerked his arm out of his grasp. He wasn't going to be helpless, he wasn't going to let Grissom be right, couldn't admit that he should have gone to the hospital, that he wasn't sure if he was inside out or right side up. He wasn't going to do it. He wasn't helpless God-dammit!

"Just leave me man, I'm fine, m'ok."

"Nick, you're suffering from shock, and there's a distinct possibility that you're bleeding internally, let's just cut out the matcho crap and admit that you need help so I can get you to the hospital."

Nick wished he hadn't started crying. He was reducing his second attempt at reaming Grissom to little more than a pathetic sob. The anger and fury that he felt was lost to the weakness in his body and the turmoil in his mind.

"You'd like that huh? …chance to tell me y'told m'so, right? Chance to clean up Nicky's screw ups huh? I said I'm fine, m'fine, don't need anyone's help."

The hurt that spilled from Nick, the bareness of the pain that lay within him, the accusation that laced his words, it took Grissoms breath from his lungs. He finally saw how he was affecting his young protégé. Realised finally that of all the CSI's he'd trained, it had been Nick who'd been on the receiving end of almost every, "you screwed up" lecture. His brief encounter with the Judge confirmed that Nick had probably been raised almost exclusively on those three words since he was a little boy. Grissom felt hollow inside, all he'd ever wanted was to make Nick a good CSI, and now seeing the tears flow down his bruised cheeks all he wanted to do was take it all back, to open his eyes and see that all Nick needed was a little time, a "that a boy" every now and again. He needed to know how much potential he had, and Grissom had to be the one to tell him.

"Nick…I…I can't believe you would be so stupid as to assault a Judge in the corridor of a police station, have you any idea how bad this could be for you."

Not quite what he had in mind…but then Gilbert Grissom never had been one to throw his feeling out into the open. He knew all the things he should have said, but the words seemed to have other ideas. He was a victim of his own fear and his punishment would be the look on Nicks face at that moment, which would no doubt stay with him forever. The look of utter bewilderment was soul destroying, though it was quickly eclipsed as Nicks eyes rolled backwards in his head and he collapsed, falling hard and fast, head ricocheting off the concrete floor.

* * *

AN: Man! I can't explain it...fanfiction allows me to do whatever I want with Nick and I just keep kicking him when he's down...I'm not sure i'm taking correct advantage of the power I have to make him just walk about shirtless and barefoot and lovely. That said I really want to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. It was really cool to get so many reviews for it. I'm glad you all seemed to enjoy the judges little smackdown...Thanks again. Take it easy...oh one more note...the title for the story comes from a Tom Petty song by the same title, which I don't own, and though I can't explain it, when I heard it during the summer I decided to write this story. Just thought i'd put that in there. In the spirit of sharing information...


	25. Chapter 25

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The silence usually associated with hospital waiting rooms was no where to be found at Desert Palms. It was hard to tell who was making the most noise. Grissom was arguing with Jim, who being the man he was, was arguing back, with equal, if not more fervour. Sara was arguing with Warrick for arguing with Greg, who was doing his best to convince Warrick that he hadn't screwed up on purpose, that Nick was his friend too. Catherine had yet to arrive, but was bound to pick a corner and fight it when she did.

The only people who weren't arguing were Nick's parents. They stood at opposite ends of the room, Jillian hugging her arms around herself, tears sliding down her face, one after the other. She felt hopeless, like everything was out of her control, it was a feeling she wasn't used too, a feeling that a woman like her could never tolerate in her life. She had always been in control, she was the paradigm of control, the original unflappable, the only problem was she wasn't any of those things right now. She had just turned 19 when she married William Stokes II, her parents had told her she was too young, but she was very much in love. He had been her first love, and she his, and there had truly never been a day to pass in their 43 years of marriage that she had felt anything but love for him. Not when he missed the first three births of their children because he was working, not when he'd missed the music recitals or the ballgames, not when he'd been on business trips when the kids were sick, not when she had been cold in bed at night because his job needed him, not even when she'd found the lipstick on his collar or the receipts for restaurants she'd never been too. He was not a perfect man, she had no illusions, but it's an unfortunate thing when you can't choose who to love, and that was all there ever was, that was the truth, until today. Today everything was wrong and she was lost. She didn't know who she was anymore, and the one person she could have asked was the very person that had just broken her heart.

William watched as the woman he loved ached on his account. He'd only ever wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. She wasn't all he'd ever wanted, but as he grew in stature, and grew as a person, grew older, he realised that she was all he had ever needed. He took big strides, crossing the length of the room in less than five paces. He stood less than an inch from his wife, not daring to touch her, caressing her face only with his eyes. They were deep and dark, but still held an inexplicable softness, eyes just like Nicks.

His voice was cracked when he finally addressed her.

"Forgive me Jilly."

She snapped her gaze towards him, the emotion was painted on her face and her lips trembled as she scowled at him, her tone full of warning. Tread carefully.

"Don't ask me that Bill, don't you ask me that!"

"Please, Jill, I did it for you."

The sound of the slap ricocheted off the walls, killing dead the arguments that raged like an angry sea just seconds ago. It was the second time that night Jillian had slapped her husband. He rubbed at his cheek, head slightly bowed, embarrassed at the attention that was being drawn towards them, but not daring to admonish his wife for it.

"You selfish bastard, don't dare William, don't dare! You did this for me?! You made MY son live with this, you allowed him to think it was his fault. He apologised to me! I let my baby down that night, and have done every night since. And you did this for me? Explain that to me William; explain what part of this was for me. You were protecting me…I was a grown woman, a District Attorney trained to deal with the victims of rape, he was a little boy. What makes you think I needed you and he didn't? What the hell were you thinking, what ARE you thinking right now. He's suffering and you're adding to it. My son is in surgery fighting for his life because since the day he told you what had happened you've been conditioning him to get on with it. To keep his head in the game. To cowboy up! He's been hurting for days now, physically hurting, but he's too bull headed to ask for help, and that's down to you. If he doesn't make it through this...so help me William, as the Lord our God is my witness I will hate you until the day I die."

The tirade had shocked him. He'd never seen Jillian angry before. She'd never been so unreasonable. He was thrown off kilter and now struggled to remain composed in the uncharted territory they'd ventured into.

"Jilly please, honey, don't say that, it'll be ok, Nicky's going to be fine, and we'll work this out, we'll get past this. You're just in shock right now is all? Once we get back to the ranch we can talk about it ok? Let's just get back to the hotel and we can sleep some. You look tired honey."

"You just don't get it do you? You've lied to me so many times Bill. The little lies, the big lies, the white lies, the black lies. But this…this is too much, it's just too damn far. That night while he was crying for me I was sipping champagne and dancing with you. It makes me so sick I don't know how I'm still managing to breathe. He should never have been home that night. I shouldn't have left him there."

"Jillian, you know how we ran the house, we had 7 kids to keep in line, the rules were the rules. Nick broke them, we would have kept any one of the kids home that night if they'd done the same thing. He was horsing around inside and he broke the vase, he was punished as he should have been."

"He didn't do it."

"What!? Of course he did Jilly, he confessed to it."

"And you more than anyone should understand the concept of a false confession…He was doing what Nick always did, he was being selfless, and good and kind. Katie started crying at the reception, don't you remember? You told her not to make a show. I took her to the restroom and heard her stunning confession; I had to try so hard not to laugh. We really did have the kids programmed with some kind of catholic guilt mechanism. She told me she'd knocked the vase over. That's why I made you bring home that piece of cake for him. He worshiped you Bill, it would have been worth missing the party for him if it was you that brought the cake and not me, but God how I wish I'd done it."

He reached for his wife's hand, wanted to hold her close to him, to make her see that he had never meant to hurt any of them. She pulled away from him, leaving a sting tenfold greater than she had inflicted with the same hand only moments ago.

"Jilly, please…"

Any further exchange between the two was halted by the appearance of Doctor Zeedyk. His enquiry as to who of the assembled herd was Nick Stokes family was met with impatient answers of, "we all are."

And so he launched into a well rehearsed speech. It was anyones guess how many other times he'd delivered similar news to similar people.

"Mr Stokes arrived in the ER suffering from extensive trauma to his chest and back, as well as suspected head injuries and a partially dislocated knee. According to the information provided by….Dr. Grissom, it had been almost an hour since the trauma had occurred before he was treated. Mr Stokes was taken to the operating room suffering from massive blood loss caused by re-injury to his spleen, which I believe was repaired quite recently. Unfortunately it was necessary to perform a partial spleenectomy to remove around 60 percent of the damaged spleen. Although it is possibly to function normally with only part of the spleen, for the time being Mr Stokes is at a high risk for contracting fatal infections while he recovers from the trauma. That said I am pleased with how the surgery went, and expect the patient to make a full recovery. He has age and fitness on his side, though I suggest every effort is made to encourage him to stay in the hospital until I see fit to discharge him. His records show he has a tendency to make rather ill advised decisions about his health. If you have any questions don't hesitate to contact me. Mr Stokes is in recovery and should be awake soon, though he will be weak and I don't advise causing him more stress than is absolutely necessary."

The doctor slipped quietly out of the room again, leaving an oppressive silence to linger in his place.

Greg retreated to a corner of the room and took a seat, glad for a disruption to escape from Warrick. He figured it was probably nothing personal, but most of what had transpired in the hallway before Nick collapsed had been heard by anyone in the vicinity. It was now pretty obvious why Nick had reacted so strongly to the case, perhaps it was even obvious why Warrick had chosen this moment to kick off about Greg "screwing up."

Warrick Brown was an all round straight talking guy, a mans man. He drank beer and shot hoops and swore and never cried. He and Nick had struck up an unlikely friendship, though neither had ever commented on their differences. It had never seemed to be an issue. Warrick was struggling with the idea that his best friend had lived with the shame of being abused, was struggling even more with the idea that it made a difference to him. Nick was still the same guy, y'know, he was still just Nicky…except Warrick wasn't sure if he was, and now he was in the hospital, waiting for his friend to wake up, but dreading it at the same time. He didn't know what to say or how to act, and the last thing Nick needed right now was for him to say the wrong thing. Nick had once told him it was easier sometimes to be mad about something that to be hurt by it, so he'd decided to be mad and ripped Greg a new one, now he just wanted to be quiet, to sit and wait.

Just as Greg had retreated to one side of the room, Warrick slipped towards the other, only just managing to avoid taking a detour with his fist to add to the nice big purple bruise on the Judges face. Warrick felt sick that the man had known about what happened to Nick and had chosen to keep quiet. He felt even sicker that he had sat in the locker room with Nick so many times while Nick tore himself apart every time he heard his father was coming to town. It was a pre-programmed condition, his father's presence made him hate himself, and now it was all becoming clear.

Jillian turned away form Bill, wiping at the tears that still jumped from her eyes.

"I think you should leave before Nicky wakes up."

"What? No Jilly, I want to be here for you."

"Yes Bill, that's the problem. You don't want to be here for Nick, you want to be here for me and right now it makes me cringe to think of you anywhere near me."

"Look, honey, just let me stay, we can talk about this later."

"I need some space to think."

I've often wondered about that phrase. Space to think, as if having "space" allows us to somehow arrange our thoughts in the air around us. So we can look at them and move them round and re-interpret them, when really at the end of it all the guy is still going to be an asshole.

Was William Stokes an asshole?

* * *

Nick stirred in his dreamless sleep, blinking against harsh clinical lights when he regained consciousness. He knew he was in the hospital, remembered the way the mattresses in hospital beds felt, could smell the fragrance that was uniquely hospital and heard the hum, whizz, burr of an assortment of machines, no doubt designed to keep him in the happy place he was in right now. Who says the drugs don't work.

He assessed his condition. His chest was wrapped tightly in bandages and he could see the blood stained gauze over his surgical incision. He reasoned he must have busted out the stitches in his spleen. His doctor would probably be pissed that he hadn't taken the direction for bed rest seriously the first time round. His knee was being supported by a heavy elastic brace, immobilised, but painless. He bet he looked like hell, but right now he didn't care, he could feel the cool rush of morphine in his veins and he likes it. He liked morphine. Everything was better with morphine. Nothing mattered when you had morphine. Not his nine year old self, not his moms horrified face, not his fathers cold indifference, not Grissom, not Greg, not Annabel, and especially not Mikey…No. None if it mattered right? That was probably why he felt overwhelmingly sad, not empty or hollow or defeated, just plain old sad. But sad's a real bitch. It's quiet and unassuming and we don't take notice of it when it creeps up behind us, sits down beside us and offers us its perspective on the situation. Sad is what pre-schoolers are: because it's all they have. It's the only word they know for how they feel when the balloon bursts. Nick Stokes was indeed sad, his balloon was well and truly burst, and when you are sad there really is only one thing you can do. You cry…Not gut wrenching, heart breaking tears, quiet tears. Sad tears.

Jillian watched as Nick cried silent tears. Her hand was on the door handle, but she couldn't bring herself to open it, so she just watched him. Sara stood a little off to the side. There had been silent agreement that Jillian and Sara would see Nick first, but now Sara felt a little awkward, blaming herself for the divisionshe'd created between Nicks parents. She made no attempt to follow when Jillian turned from the door and walked down the corridor towards the ambulance bay, instead she opened the door to Nicks private room and pulled up a chair beside him, slipping her fingers between his and resting her head gently on his shoulder. His only acknowledgement of her being there, the feather-light kiss he dropped onto the crown of her head and the gentle squeeze of her hand. They didn't talk, it had all spiraled so far out of control that neither of them would know where to start. So they sat in silence, each contemplating their next move.

* * *

AN: Sorry for the ridiculously long wait for an update. I've just started my final year of university and it's all a bit hectic. Thanks for being patient. Thanks also to all the reviewers who have spurred me on to update as soon as I could. Another slightly angsty chapter, but I assure you there is light at the end of the tunnel...well...kind of. Thanks for reading, feel free to comment...(or leave ridiculously detailed accounts of my grammatical and spelling errors lol) Take it easy, Aly


	26. Chapter 26

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It had been almost a week since Nick had arrived at the hospital again. His morphine high was being buzz-killed by cautious doctors who were worried he was becoming dependant…or was that depressed? Nick had become adept at tuning most of what was said out. The whole team had dropped by at one point or another over the last few days, but he wasn't in the mood for conversation, felt groggy and sore. He now knew that he hadn't simply torn a few stitches, he'd well and truly screwed his poor little spleen and was going to be out of commission for closer to months than weeks. He wasn't sure how he felt about it all. He hadn't thought about it, not because he didn't have time on his hands, just because he really didn't want too.

He'd learned that Mikey Campbell would be buried the following weekend and had resolved to attend the service since it was unlikely that his mother would still be a free woman when it all came about. Annabel hadn't contested her guilt, just as she'd indicated she wouldn't, and was due for sentencing in the middle of the week. It was a shame she wouldn't be allowed to say goodbye to her son, but then in the eyes of the law she was little more than a murderer. Jesse had been placed in a group foster home, and was mercifully too young to understand fully what was going on, though he was old enough to cry for his momma. Nick didn't want to think about that either. Mikey Campbell had no one to say goodbye to him, no one to throw dirt onto his unjustly small coffin, or pray that he would find a better place.

Nick didn't care that he wasn't allowed to leave the hospital bed for another two weeks; he wasn't going to let Mikey Campbell take his last journey alone. God knew he'd been alone too much as it was. He'd made the mistake of telling Sara his plan to discharge himself. She'd told him if he did that he could find someone else to help him, because she wouldn't be responsible for him dying. She was being dramatic; at least he hoped she was, since she'd also told him she wouldn't stay with a man who acted with "reckless disregard" for his health. He wasn't sure what he'd do without her, but he knew the fear of losing her wasn't enough to change his mind. They'd argued about it once and it hadn't been mentioned again, though everyday that passed seemed to leave the atmosphere decidedly thicker with the unsaid.

* * *

Nick was stirred from a mercifully dream-free nap by footsteps approaching his room. He prised his eyes open, heavy from too much sleep. He was momentarily dizzy; a side effect of his newest concussion, and the room remained blurry until he managed to locate his glasses on the small locker that sat beside his bed. He was almost fully alert when the owner of the footsteps entered his room.

"Hey mom."

His voice was slightly hoarse from having been intubeated during his surgery, but it didn't betray any of the feelings that sat just below the surface, waiting for an excuse to attack. He greeted her as neutrally as he would have commented about the weather.

Jillian walked slowly to the side of his bed, pulling a hard plastic chair closer to him before sitting on it and taking his hand in hers. He loved her too much to hurt her by pulling it away, though right now that was what he wanted to do. She had no right to hold his hand, where the hell had she been for the last 7 days. Ah, its seems the feelings he'd tucked down, were coming to the fore once more. He found himself suddenly angry that she presumed to come visit him when she'd made it clear that she didn't care enough to stay with him after his surgery.

Jillian knew her son well. Not as well as she would have claimed just days ago, but none-the-less, she had raised him for almost 17years before he left for college and had, over time, grow to recognise when he was not amused. His pupils got darker and his nostrils flared just ever so much. She also knew enough to be aware that she should tread carefully. Nick had never been one to get unjustly angry, but he could be bull-headed as the next man at times.

"…Nicky…I…"

"What?"

He knew he was probably being unfair. That she was doing her best to deal with a delicate situation, but he'd believed it when he said it to Warrick. He _was _easier to be pissed than to be hurting.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you, I had to fly back to Texas with your father. I just got back here this morning."

He felt like a jerk when he saw the tears starting to fall. It was a miracle they were all so well hydrated. All anyone seemed to do anymore was cry. Cry or be angry. There was no perceivable middle ground. Nicks voice softened and he squeezed his mothers hand.

"Don't cry momma."

Jillian sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a hankie, laughing slightly.

"I'm sorry baby. I don't know what's got into me these days."

"…you ok?"

Jillian looked deep into his eyes, trying to keep her composure. Nick held her gaze, silently imploring her to open up to him. She resisted, rambling in surprisingly coherent sentences, but obviously avoiding the question.

"I'm pretty sure I should be asking you that. I talked with your doctor; he says it will be a few more weeks before you can get home, but that you're doing well all things considered. You look much better today, the bruising has faded a little, and you don't seem so pale. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? Are you in pain?"

She slipped her hand out of his and straightened his bed sheets before smoothing his hair down onto his forehead. She never did like the way it stuck out so unruly after he'd slept. It made him look unkempt. She stopped only when Nick stole her hand back into his.

"Mom… Stop. Just tell me what's wrong."

"I asked your father to move out."

Shit.

Nick didn't know what to say and had now inadvertently taken on the look of a rather vacant goldfish.

"I'm sorry he did what he did Nick. If I'd known I would…"

"…mom, no, please. I don't blame you for anything. What happened wasn't your fault. It wasn't dad's fault either. It just…it just happened. It's ok, I'm ok. This case…it got to me…but it's ok now. Everything's ok."

"How can you say that? He made you live with this for so many years, and I didn't even notice Nick. My baby boy and I didn't notice. I was so caught up with working and trying to keep everything running at home."

Nick struggled to keep up with what was happening. Everything had spiralled out of control. If he'd just been able to keep his emotions in check, if he'd never told Sara, if he'd just fucking cowboy'd the fuck up. Lots of swearing. Swearing was cathartic. He didn't want everything to change. He wanted to have fun with Sara, to have a laugh with Warrick, to meet Grissom's eyes, for Grissom to meet his. It wasn't fair. He'd had enough, and now he was just going to get some more. He wasn't going to be responsible for ruining his parents' marriage. He'd never agree that his father had done the right thing. The guy had been an asshole everyday since, but Nick couldn't help being who he was. He saw things from his fathers point of view, recognised now that his dad, his hero, Cisco…he'd been scared. Fear makes us all a little crazy, and while some mistakes are bigger than others, mistakes happen. It's how we deal with them that counts. Unfortunately it seemed like the Judge was failing on that one too, but that didn't mean he wouldn't get it eventually. Nick was quiet for a long time, lost in his thoughts.

"Mom, you love him."

"I hate him. I do. I hate him with every fibre of my being."

"You don't mean that mom. I don't expect you too. It's done now. I just want it to be over momma."

"I can't be with him while he continues to hurt you. I want things to be right again. I want you to want to see us, to come home to visit. I miss having my son near me."

"I don't want to be around him mom, I can't tell you anything else, I'm sorry. That doesn't mean I don't love you mom. I mean, I love dad too…I just, y'know. He never loved me after what happened. I stopped being Pancho and started being Nicholas, and I guess it just hurts mom. It really does."

Jillian barely stifled a sob and was surprised to hear Nick laughing lightly. She peered at him inquisitively, wanting to know what was so funny about him feeling alienated by his father. He grinned slightly, reaching his hand to rub his stiff neck. Suddenly embarrassed by his frank and open revelations.

"They a…they're making me see a shrink. For work, y'know, they want me to "seek professional help" before they'll allow me to come back. I'm doing a good job…working through my issues, don't you think mom?"

Jillian laughed despite herself. It was true. Nick had never been open with how he was feeling, at least not to the point of vocalising it. She cupped his face, rubbing his cheek with her thumb.

"Yes baby, you're doing a wonderful job."

"Things are going to be ok mom. It's going to be fine. With you and dad I mean. It'll all work out."

While Nick truly did hate his father at times, he couldn't hate him entirely. He had after-all done all he could for many years to make his mother happy. He worshipped the ground she walked on, and she loved him back, despite her recent assertions. The last thing Nick wanted to happen was for more misery to come of his abuse. There was too much already.

"I love you Nicky."

"Love you too mom."

* * *

The love fest was interrupted when Brass arrived to see how his "favourite nephew" was doing. This amused both Nick and his mother greatly, and lightened the mood considerably. While Jillian excused herself to go check into a hotel, Jim slipped the recently vacated chair next the bed.

"So, nephew…how you feelin'?"

"Like shit…they won't give me anymore drugs."

Nick smirked and Jim glared at him.

"I'm trying to be serious here Nick."

"Yea…I'm trying not to be."

Jim debated for a moment. Took note of the exhaustion painted on Nicks face.

"So…a…when do the hot nurses get here, and who do I talk to about getting' a sponge bath?"

They both laughed. Easy laughter. Sure, it wasn't that funny, but it was funny enough.

"Thanks Jim."

* * *

AN: Sorry for the delay. thanks again for the readers and the reviewers...I clicked on that little button that gives me stats. It's crazy, it tells you where the people who are reading come from. I'm kinda curious to know where you all come from now...lol maybe we could have some kind of prize for the furthest away reviewer. I'm in Scotland UK...so yea, beat that! I know my resident grammer police officer comes from USA because they labour under the impression that z's are better than s's...but apart from that, I got no idea where you're all from. So yeah , feel free to enter lol Take it easy, hope you enjoyed, working on a little levity for the next installment. Thanks, Aly


	27. Chapter 27

* * *

Nick scrunched his eyes up against the sound of Gregs whining voice.

"Jesus! G! Will you just stop moaning and give me my damn pants already?!"

"Look, man, I'm just sayin' Warrick's gonna kill me if he finds out I'm breakin' you out of the hospital…not to mention Sara! Crap, I think I'm more scared of her than Warrick…and then there's Grissom…and BRASS! He carries a gun…like everywhere! I'm gonna get killed. This is such a bad idea…"

"…hey man, you owe me, a'rite. Now…just maybe hold me up while I get my legs in."

Greg averted his gaze while Nick tried unsuccessfully to get his legs into his black dress pants.

"I'm not sure we're still in the healthy man love territory, I really don't think I'm cut out for holdin' onto you while you hop about practically naked."

"Yea…well just be glad I managed to get my boxers on without askin' you to hold aythin'."

The effort of twisting to get into his pants had Nick struggling for a breath. His ribs were jostling and he could have sworn he felt his sown up spleen stretching. He was in pain; at least he thought he was in pain, though it wasn't until he tried resting his weight on his freshly relocated knee that he was certain he was. His knee screamed in protest and he struggled to stay conscious as the dizziness and nausea hit him with blinding force, resulting in a rather loud cuss…followed by several quieter ones.

"FUCK!"

Greg struggled to hold Nick steady and though while he wasn't much taller; he had a few pounds on the lab tech, who wondered just how much time Nick put in at the gym to end up with guns like his.

"Shit, Nicky, you ok?"

"Son of a….fuck man…"

Nick was sucking sharp breaths through his teeth, tottering gingerly on his injured leg. This was a real dumbass thing to be doing. He felt the sweat sliding down his bare back. How the hell was he going to get to the cemetery when he couldn't even manage to get dressed?

"G…can you…can you just give me a hand man…I think I'm gonna pass out."

As Greg shuffled Nick back towards the hospital bed he took stock of how completely ridiculous this was, not to mention dangerous. All it would take would be a little knock and Nick could tear the stitches in his spleen and bleed out before he could get to a hospital. Greg suddenly felt a little light headed himself.

"Shit…shit, shit, shit, I'm not a doctor. Crap. Nick, look I know you really want to go to the funeral, but this is pretty crazy. It's only been a couple of weeks since you had major surgery, you should still be in bed, like, not moving. You know this is a bad idea, can't we just…I dunno…not do this?"

Greg was clutching his head and glancing round the room nervously, refusing to meet Nicks steely gaze.

"Look man, I'm goin' to the service, so you can help me, or you can leave. I don't care which; just decide now so I can get a plan together."

Greg remained silent, caught between the rock and the hard place. The proverbial catch twenty two. He felt bad about the screw up at the lab…the screw up that had in all actuality landed Nick back in the hospital in the first place. He knew Nick was serious about going to say goodbye to Mikey, but he really hated the guy right now for quilting him into being an accessory to his great escape.

"G? You with me or not man, now's the time."

Greg remained silent, but picked up Nicks crisp white shirt and started helping him get it on.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nick was dressed in his black suit with his white shirt and black tie. Greg was finishing fastening the shoelaces on his black courtroom shoes. Nick slid back off the bed and gingerly tested his leg. He'd taken off the brace so he could get his pants on, and he could feel blood rushing through his knee. He chanced a look at Greg's face, wished he hadn't. The kid looked miserable. The kicked puppy look softened Nicks temper.

"Hey…thanks G. I'm sorry 'bout draggin' you into this man. I just, y'know, I need someone to just let me do this."

"Yea, and I owe you one for messin' up the DNA right?"

"…aw, man. Greggo, it's not your fault man, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's just one of those things that happens. You gotta stop beating yourself up about it. I told 'Rick to lay off-a you."

"Thanks"

"Hey, listen; I really do appreciate this. I'll tell them all not to give you shit about it. I just have to do it. I can't help it. I just…"

"It's fine Nick, you don't have to explain…let's just get goin'."

Nick had taken half a step before they realised this wasn't going to work. Nick couldn't put any pressure on his leg, especially without the knee splint. He collapsed back onto the bed, fists balled in anger.

"Fuck! This is so damn frustrating!"

"Look, calm down Nick…I'll go figure something out."

Greg darted out of the room, ignoring the pointed glares that Dr Zeedyk was shooting him. He returned minutes later with a wheelchair and a set of crutches.

Nick screwed up his face at the prospect of the wheelchair, but knew it was probably his only way out. He'd do his best to use the crutches once he got to the cemetery, he imagined putting all his weight on his arms was going to kill his ribs and his injured arm, but then he figured he'd make do. He did his best to give Greg an encouraging smile before sliding himself into the chair and heading towards the reception to collect his prescriptions and sign himself out "AMA" once more.

* * *

Sara bustled down the halls of the hospital; she'd brought a portable DVD player for Nick, to keep him occupied while he was stuck in the hospital. She knew he'd be upset about not being able to go to the funeral, so she had taken the day off work and resolved to take his mind off everything. She was confused when she arrived at his room to find an empty bed. He hadn't mentioned that he was changing rooms when they'd spoken on the phone last night. She signalled to a nurse at the reception desk.

"Hey…I'm Sara Sidle, I'm looking for Nick Stokes, he's recovering from a partial spleenectomy. He was in room 4, but his bed's empty. Could you tell me where they moved him too?"

"Ah…just give me a moment."

Sara leaned against the counter while the nurse tapped at the keyboard on the computer.

"Ah...Miss Sidle…Mr Stokes checked himself out this morning…"

"What? He checked himself out!"

"Yes, it appears so…he signed himself out against medical advice, into the care of a…Mr. Sanders…is there a problem?"

"No. No problem. Thank-you for your help."

Sara blinked back the tears as she left the hospital. She wished he hadn't done it. Wished she could understand his motivations for endangering his life, but she couldn't. If he'd loved her he would have stayed in the hospital.

She'd warned him that she wouldn't stay with a man who had an ill concealed death wish.

* * *

It had started to rain as they approached the cemetery. Nick had fallen asleep, the gentle buzz of the engine and the slight rock of the car in motion, coupled with the fatigue of the last few days had meant he slipped off to a dream almost as soon as they had left the hospital car park. Greg stole cautious glances towards his sleeping friend, cursing himself for agreeing to do this. Nick had sounded so tired when he called to cajole him into playing the part of the get away driver. As they drew into the church car-park Greg shut off the engine and took a deep breath. He could see the freshly dug earth piled high in the distance. Mikey's grave was ready and waiting.

The minister that emerged from the small church moments later was followed by two pallbearers who held a small white coffin between them. Greg turned towards Nick and shook his arm gently.

Nick blinked and took stock of his surroundings, but didn't speak. Greg for his part remained silent too. Watching, not knowing what else to do.

Nick opened the car door and swung his legs out with some difficulty. His knee had seized during the car ride and was now rebelling against the idea of being moved. He sucked air between his teeth while Greg wordlessly passed him the crutches before climbing out himself.

"You don't need to come G."

Nick had slipped on his sun glasses, despite the fact there was no sun. When he spoke he didn't turn round to look at Greg, he watched the silent progression of the coffin towards the open grave a couple of hundred metres away.

"I don't mind Nick…I a..."

"I want to go on my own…you can shoot off…I'll just call a cab when I'm done."

"Nick, man, come-on you can't just hop around the place, you just got out of hospital."

Nicks voice was harsh and determined. It lacked the usual warmth that Greg was used too, and he would have bet money that that drawl had gotten thicker.

"I'm not a kid Greg, just let me do what I have to do. I appreciate you drivin' me here, but I'm good to go from here thanks."

Greg slid back into the drivers seat, banging the door closed and watched as Nick made his way towards the grave, fumbling with the crutches, but stopping only once on his way to his final destination. Once he was sure Nick had reached the minister Greg closed his eyes and rested his head against the headrest. He'd wait.

The service was short and to the point. The minister spoke with practised ease and Nick stood solemnly, head bowed at the grave side, occasionally mumbling an "amen."

The air was cold and nipped his bones, but he stood long after the service had ended and the coffin had been lowered. He couldn't quite bring himself to move, he didn't want to leave, his mind overcome with the thought that Mikey might be lonely now. It was irrational, and he knew as much…but that didn't stop him from wishing they didn't have to fill the grave all full of dirt. Burying his tiny body…in the tiny box…in the tiny hole in the ground. It just didn't feel right. It wasn't right, and so he stood. Head bowed against the fierce wind, raindrops falling like diamonds from the sky.

* * *

Nick was startled when he felt a hand grip his arm.

"Nick, you've been out here for a while man. It's pretty cold and you're soaked to the skin..."

Nicks voice was hollow, devoid of animation. Greg wondered if he even knew he was speaking. Nicks eyes never waivered from the little handful of dirt that rested on the crisp white coffin.

"…Just another minute."

Greg suppressed a shiver. The knowledge that Nick had just lost half his spleen was heavily on his mind. An infection, even a minor one could kill him right now, and he was going to insist on standing in the rain?

"Nick man, you gotta come now. You can't be out here in the rain. It's not good."

Nick stood firm, though not out of stubbornness…he just couldn't move. Greg gripped his arm tighter and pulled it gently.

"Nick, come-on man…just leave it alone…you can't do anything."

"I don't want him to be lonely."

Greg wanted to cry.

"Shit…Nick…please man, just lets go."

Greg pulled harder on Nicks arm, finally managing to pull his attention from the coffin. Nick met his gaze with shining eyes. Bright with unshed tears. He looked dazed somehow, almost surprised to see Greg standing there.

Nick sounded like a child when he finally spoke.

"Can you take me home?"

Greg looped his arm around Nicks waist while he adjusted the crutches.

"Yea…I'll take you home."

* * *

AN: Hey, once again thanks for being patient waiting for an update. Thanks for the reviews last time round...I think we didn't make it any further than USA...but since I have no geographical knowledge of America you'll have to let me know if you won. lol Another kind of angsty chapter...i'm trying to find some fun, but it is all a bit grim. I'm worried that Sara might do something drastic...she did warm him not to do it...Anyhow, thanks for reading, as always feel free to comment...(or correct my appauling grammer...I have a feeling this one is riddled with mistakes) Take it easy...Aly


	28. Chapter 28

* * *

Nick had just woken from a deep sleep. The funeral service had left him feeling drained, but also strangely at peace. After he'd finally convinced Greg to go home Nick had fallen into bed and slept hard. He stretched his stiff muscles before swinging his legs out of the bed, hopping gingerly to his feet while reaching for the crutches that rested against his bedside locker. He shuffled towards the bathroom and turned the shower on before sliding his boxers down and easing himself under the warm spray. He rested heavily against the wall to avoid pressure on his knee, leaning into the spray, letting it wash away all the insanity that had accumulated in the last few weeks, eyes closed, head bowed, allowing thoughts to enter and be washed out of his mind. His quiet meditation was interrupted by his doorbell. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, slinging it low around his hips and reaching once more for his crutches.

He swung the door open to a very pissed off Sara Sidle. She didn't wait for an invitation, instead choosing to push past him into his living room. Nick had barely closed the door before she launched into her tirade.

"How could you be so stupid!"

Nick hung his head. This couldn't be good. He opened his mouth to explain, but was cut off when Sara turned towards him, hands on hips, eyes blazing…he couldn't help but think she looked more than a little hot with her eyes scrunched up and her lips kinda puckered. He wondered how mad she'd be if he just kissed her right now. He guessed she'd be a lot mad judging from the tone of her voice a second later.

"Do you have any idea what could have happened when you left the hospital?! You could have got an infection, or you could have bled to death! Jesus Nick! Do you ever just stop to think about what you're doing? First you process a crime scene solo and get beat to a pulp, but no…you're not content with that! You have to go chasing after criminals down alleyways and get beat to hell again. For anyone else that'd be enough, but not for you right? You have to go one better and go stand in the rain for a few hours with half a spleen; daring an infection to take hold and kill you!"

The tears streamed down her face as she continued to yell at him. Nick hobbled towards her, attempting to wrap her up in his arms. She wasn't in the mood to be comforted by him. The thought of loosing him was too much for her, and now she just wanted to be far away from it all. Nick didn't bother to correct her about the fact that he hadn't exactly chosen to be alone at the crime scene, didn't bother to remind her that he hadn't gone looking for Lynch, and decided also to remain silent about the reason he had to go to the funeral. She was being irrational; there was no point in trying to explain himself to her when she was like this.

"Sar…I'm sorry if I made you worry, but I'm fine, I'm resting, I only just got out of bed."

"You just don't get it do you Nick?"

He tried once more to reach her, extending his hand towards hers, she jerked it back angrily before retreating to the couch and slumping into the soft cushions. Nick took a seat beside her, studying her face while they both remained silent. The air was heavy with unspoken words. After what seemed like an eternity Nick clasped her hand, tightening his grip just enough to prevent her pulling away, but not hard enough to hurt her. He reached his other hand towards her face, tilting her chin so she was looking at him.

"Look at me baby. I'm sorry, ok. I just…I had to go. You have to understand. I didn't do this to hurt you."

Sara's voice seemed to adopt a childlike quality as she searched his eyes, willing herself to forgive him for being so reckless.

"I asked you not to go Nick. You know how I felt about it, and you went anyway. You could be dead right now. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

Nick sighed. It wasn't about Sara, it was about him. He needed to go. He watched as she fought to contain a fresh set of tears.

"Why don't you take a few days of your vacation time? We can go someplace nice, just you and me and some warm sand and blue sea? It'll be nice. We can get back to normal…what do you say baby?"

"I told you I wouldn't be with someone who had a death wish Nick."

Nick huffed a breath out, his nostrils flaring as he got agitated.

"Jeeez Sara, don't you think that's a little dramatic?"

Sara's voice was small, almost impossible to hear.

"I can't do this Nick."

"Ok…so we won't go away right now, we can leave it a few weeks until I feel a little better…"

"…No. Nick. I can't do _this_…us. I just…I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry"

She slipped her hand from his, struggling to hold back the tears that rested just below the surface, she leaned towards him, dropping a chaste kiss to his cheek, cringing at the look of utter bewilderment etched on his face. She stood and started towards the door, not daring to look back even when he called her name. He struggled to his feet and moved towards her.

"Sara…please, don't do this. I'm sorry. Sara! Don't walk away. Please, I need you. I can't do this on my own. I know it was stupid, but I had to do it."

"I'm sorry Nick."

The door closed with a dull click and Nick sank back into the cushions, eyes closed tight against the tears, hands running through his hair.

Fuck.

* * *

It had been three days…three long days since Sara had left him. Nick was lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling. She wasn't returning his calls, and he hadn't been stupid enough to try and go back to work.

He was balancing a half full…though he in actual fact supposed it was half empty…beer bottle on his chest when he heard a key rattle in the lock of the front door. His heart skipped a beat and his head whipped towards the sound. He was more than a little disappointed when Warrick appeared; and settled himself back in his original position without any word of greeting.

Warrick walked into the kitchen, opening a few cupboards before calling through to Nick.

"When was the last time you bought groceries man, there's nothin' in here 'cept chilli sauce and crackers."

Nick continued to watch the ceiling, waiting quietly for his epiphany, bringing the bottle to his lips with practiced ease, managing to manoeuvre it to his mouth without spilling it on himself.

Warrick emerged from the kitchen and sank into a chair opposite Nick's couch. His cell was pressed to his ear, and moments later Nick heard an order for pizza placed. He groaned internally…he guessed if food was coming there was undoubtedly also going to be a "talk." As If on cue Warrick spoke again, his voice low, as close to a drawl as Nick had ever heard it. He pushed himself into a sitting position, with a considerable amount of pain and an ill concealed groan, before lifting his head to face Warrick.

"You takin' your meds?"

"Nope."

He knew he sounded like a petulant child...but right now he didn't feel like acting so grown up.

"Where they at? I'll go get them… you got to take your meds bro."

Warrick was already on his feet making to go to the bathroom where he assumed the prescription bottle would be. He was stopped by Nick's voice. His words slightly slurred from the effects of too much alcohol.

"Don't want them. Got beer."

"You shouldn't be drinkin' beer when you're on medication."

"No shit Sherlock…why do you think I'm not takin' the meds."

Nick sighed and leaned back so he could watch the ceiling again. He just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his misery.

"I talked with Sara…"

"…just leave it 'Rick."

"She's pretty broke up."

"Yeah? Well whose fault is that? I had do it, and I'd do it again, so if you've come to lecture me just save it man, I don't need it right now."

Silence descended over the two. Nick was being stubborn, Warrick was lost for words. He wasn't used to dealing with Nick like this, but he knew the events surrounding the case had taken their toll and Sara's leaving had probably not helped matters.

"You want to talk about it?"

"'bout what?"

Warrick was a patient man, but the stress of Nicks brush with death had taken it's toll on him, and he wasn't as patient as he should have been.

"I dunno man, whatever…Sara? Mikey? Lynch? Your abuser? Take your pick man!"

Nick threw a withering glare at his friend before pushing himself up and reaching for his crutches so he could go get another beer.

"You want a beer?"

"Let me get them."

Surprisingly Nick didn't protest, merely sank back onto the couch.

* * *

Nick and Warrick ate pizza and drank some more beer while they watched a game. It was getting late and Warrick wasn't sure he'd made any progress with his best friend…though he had got him to switch from beer to coffee and pop a few pills a couple of hour's back, so he was closer to being sober and pain free at least. Warrick has been watching Nick closely all evening, waiting for a crack to appear so he could get Nick to open up, he was still looking when the game ended.

"How is she?"

The question came from nowhere, but Warrick knew what it was about all the same.

"She's pretty intolerable actually…real sad too."

Nicks eyes were trained on the television set, despite the fact it was just commercials.

"I love her."

"I know man; it'll be alright, just give her time to cool down y'know. She's only mad at you because she loves you."

"He said I was just like him."

This one was harder for Warrick to follow.

"What?"

"Lynch…when he was arrested…he told me I was the same as him. D'you think I'm the same as him, I'm not man, I'm really not…but do you think I am? Do you think that because of what happened to me…that I'm goin' to be like him?"

Nicks sentence was garbled…hard to follow, but Warrick got the gist of it, and suddenly wished he was more drunk. He didn't know what the hell to say.

"You're notin' like him man. Guy's scum."

"Yeah, but I mean, it's what they say isn't it. The abused becomes the abuser. The victim becomes the perpetrator. You think I'll wind up like him?"

"No way man. Let it go. You're not like him Nicky. You're the good guy."

Nick knew Warrick was right...but it weighted on his mind regardless, and hecontemplated the situation for a while after Warrick finally left, before falling asleep on the couch with a blanket pulled round him. He was so soundly asleep that he failed to hear the phone ring, or the beep of a message beginning to record.

_...Nick…it's your father; I'm going to be arriving in Vegas tomorrow evening. I trust you'll be home. My flight arrives at 4:15, so you can expect me by 6…I…love…I…I'll see you then Nicholas..._

_

* * *

_AN: Hey! Sorry for such a long wait. I hope you still enjoy this chapter. Uni has been pretty hectic. I'll try and get the next one up this weekend...think it'll be the last chapter too...ohhhh...so anything you'd like to see, give me a shout and I'll try and get all the loose ends tied up. Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter. Enjoy this one, though I think it's probably rife with mistakes...it's almost 3am here...yawn. Take it easy Aly


	29. Chapter 29

* * *

Nick had been expecting the knock that sounded on his door…this didn't stop his heart sinking though. He'd been more than a little bewildered that his dad would be making an appearance. He'd spoken to Katie; she knew their parents had been occupying separate bedrooms at the ranch, but assured him she didn't know why, and that their other siblings were unaware of the events that had apparently transpired between the couple.

Nick tugged the door open. He'd been off his feet for most of the time since he'd left the hospital and his leg was stiff from lack of exercise, though he had forsaken the set of crutches for a single crutch, which he had forgone entirely when he made his way to the door, aware that his father probably had enough ammunition against him without adding to it by hobbling about with a crutch. Signs of weakness weren't an option.

The judge was immaculately dressed as always, but something was different in the way he carried himself. He seemed worn out, old even. Nicks eyes locked with his fathers, brown on brown. Neither man spoke for almost a minute, lost in each others thoughts almost. Nick broke the silence, suddenly aware that he was leaving his father standing on the doorstep like a door to door salesman.

"Come in."

"Thank you Nicholas."

Business as usual.

Nick sighed…before offering his father a drink, which he declined with a wave of his hand before taking a seat on the couch. Nick delayed the inevitable by limping to the kitchen to poor a glass of ice tea before joining his father in the living area, taking a seat opposite him, arms crossed, waiting for the tirade to begin. His father shifted uncomfortably opposite him.

The silence was ridiculous, and Nick just wasn't in the mood for it. He threw a flippant comment towards his father.

"So…what brings you to Vegas?"

Nick was trying to maintain some sort of composure, but had an odd feeling of being on trial despite the fact his dad hadn't said more than ten words since he'd showed up.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok."

Nick barely contained a half hearted laugh at the idea of his father coming to see how he was. The judge continued, eyes transfixed on a spot just above Nicks head.

"Your mother has asked me to leave."

"Oh…so that's why you're here huh? Because it suits you to look good in moms eyes. Well thanks for the thought; I could have saved you a visit though. I'm fine, and I already told mom it wasn't your fault, so you can hop back on the plane and go make it up with her."

The defiance in Nick's voice surprised his father. He sounded so cold, so angry.

"Nick…I came here to see you. I didn't come here for your mother. She doesn't even know I'm here."

Nick found that hard to believe, his face obviously betrayed this feeling as his father started to talk again. Holding Nicks gaze, probing, and wishing he could see into his son's heart at that moment.

"I'm sorry Nick."

And so it was said, and hung heavily in the air between the men. Nick appraised his father, measured the sincerity behind the words, felt confused when he couldn't instantly see falsehood in them.

Nick took a deep breath, composing himself before lifting his eyes to meet his fathers.

"I said it wasn't your fault, and I meant it."

Bill shifted on the couch and motioned for Nick to come and sit beside him. The younger man complied, more out of habit than any desire to be near the man that had made his adolescence hell.

In a rare show of affection Bill took hold of Nicks hand a squeezed it gently, prompting Nick to look at him. He was shocked to find tears in his father's eyes.

"Nicky…I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…I didn't have the answer Nick. I still don't have the answer, and it takes a lot for me to admit it. I got it wrong. That night and most every night since; I've been wrong."

Nick had never been adept at remaining impartial and disconnected when it came to shows of emotion. Even sitting with the man he'd grown up believing he was despised by, the man who'd demonstrated his disappointment and voiced it so many times, he couldn't bring himself to let his father cry, despite whatever justification there seemed to be for allowing him to beat himself up over it all.

"Dad…don't cry. It's ok. I'm ok. Let's just put it to rest."

"No Nick…not this time. I need you to understand that I know I was wrong. I did wrong by you. Can you ever forgive me; Lord knows I can never forgive myself."

It wasn't that simple.

"Why'd you do it?"

Bill inhaled deeply, averting his gaze from the deep brown eyes that burned into him. For a moment all he could see was his little boy. His baby.

"I…I didn't know what else to do. It hurt me…and I know that's no justification. I was the parent and you were just a little boy. None of it was your fault Nicky, you know that right? You know it wasn't you I was mad at. Never you."

"Well you sure as hell had a funny way of demonstrating that! Every little thing I did you rode me about. I was just never good enough for you. I tried so hard. God. I just…I tried so hard."

The tears were coming thick and fast, but neither man cared to check themselves on it. It seemed ok to cry, the anger of the words contradicting the show of emotion.

Bill pulled Nick close to him.

"I know you did Nicky. I know…I'm so sorry."

Silence descended over them. Nick sitting with his head in his hands, struggling to deal with all that was happening.

"Do you remember when you were little, when you got sick and had to stay home from school…when I'd take the day off? Do you remember that Nicky?"

Nick looked at his father, sure he remembered. He'd been born premature and was prone to sickness when he was just a little kid. His parents had juggled their schedules so they could stay home with him.

Nick quirked his eyebrows…what's your point? The Judge continued.

"…You remember what we used to do? Just you and me, none of the other kids….do you remember Nick. Before you stopped loving me."

Nick balked at the accusation,

"Before I stopped loving YOU! I think you're getting mixed up with the facts here counsellor."

Nick made to stand, to leave, to be far away from it all. He was stopped by his fathers hand on his arm, strangley gentle, yet commanding.

"No…no…you're right….before I let you down that night. Tell me you remember."

Nick was tired, and was momentarily confused by his father's line of questioning. Maybe he'd blocked out the memories of happy times with his dad, they stood in such stark contrast to how things had been after that night. It hit him suddenly, as his dad reached for his case and drew a rectangular package from it. He spoke involunartily, in a whisper.

"The Cisco Kids."

"Yeah, that's right…Pancho."

Nick looked away. Confused by his feelings, betrayed by the thundering of his heart, remembering the good times. All the afternoons they'd sat together, watching re-runs. Cisco and Pancho.

Bill pushed the package towards Nick, who knew even before he opened it what it would be.

"It always kind of tickled me that you grew up to be a real crime fighter."

Bill laughed a little and Nick bit back the barbs about his father always having ridiculed his choice of career. It wasn't the time for it. Bridges were being mended.

Nick tossed the DVD collection absently from hand to hand, head bowed. Not quite knowing what to make of it all.

"Tell me the truth dad…would you be here if it weren't for mom?"

Bill hung his head a little, contemplating the question, wanting to answer honestly.

"I miss you Nicky. I've missed you for a long time. I just…I couldn't stand to be with you knowing what I'd done…what I'd failed to do. I didn't deserve to have you as my boy. I still don't. Nick…you have to believe me on this. I love your mother with everything I am….but this…this is about us. I miss Pancho, I miss being Cisco. Nick...I just want a chance to make this up to you. I know it's a lot of hurt. I just want to have you back. I'm so proud of you Nicky. You're such a good man."

Nick took the words into his heart. He'd waited so long to hear them, never thought he would. He stared at his dad for a long time, committing his face at that moment to his memory, before his mind switched gears and he suddenly felt himself falling again. Except this time it was different…this time….maybe….just maybe his dad would be there to catch him. He looked away from his father, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't save him, couldn't make it better."

Cisco knew immediately what his son was talking about.

"Ah… Pancho. You can't save them all, but you did your best son. It's all you can do."

"I needed this Cisco."

The old nickname had tripped so easily off his tongue that he hardly noticed it.

Bill remained silent, waiting for his son to clarify what he meant.

"…It's like…it was like this case…it was always going to be my case. It was my chance to just put it all away, to lay it all to rest, and I screwed it up."

"You didn't screw anything up son. Life just isn't always fair. You know that."

"I know. It's just…I was so sure."

Nick hung his head again. Tired out from the emotional de-cluttering, still weary and sore from his multiple dances with death. He was close to nodding off in the position he was in when his dad's voice broke through.

"Can you ever forgive me Pancho?"

Nick contemplated the question. Thinking back to all the times his dad had busted his balls over one thing or another, all the things that had made him cry, or scream, or despair about, and big as they had seemed before, they seemed positively miniscule today. He wanted to have a dad again, and if that meant forgiving him, trusting him not to break his heart again…well maybe it was worth it. Just maybe.

Nick tossed the DVD's towards his dad, leaving the older man momentarily crushed.

"I'll call for pizza; you can load the DVD up Cisco."

Bill smiled. A smile that warmed his heart, he was happy. he couldn't quite remember the last time he'd felt this way. Nick smiled at him. Nick was smiling at him. Maybe it would be alright after all. He really was a hell of a kid. He returned the smile, nodding.

"Sure thing Pancho."

* * *

AN: man, so sorry about the delay in updating. I said this would be the last chapter...but I just wanted the father son stuff to stand alone in the end. I don't know if you'll be on board with it...but I think it was time to let all wounds start to heal. You can let me know I guess. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. There will be one more chapter to deal with a few other bits and pieces. I'll do my best to get it up soon. Sorry in advance if it takes a while...Thanks again..A p.s...grammer and spelling may need to be forgiven on this one...i'm very sleepy...which is no excuse...but I have a reviewer who seems to thrive on the corrections...so hey...my gift to you is a chapter littered with mistakes?


	30. Chapter 30

* * *

Another four weeks passed before Nick was allowed back at work, and even then he was confined to the lab. At least it meant he and Greg had sorted through most of their problems, by which we mean they'd ignored it all in favour of talking about games consoles. No one was mad anymore though. Nick knew Greg had suffered for springing him from the hospital.

It was a ridiculously quiet shift, Grissom was in his office reading a book about bugs under the pretence of doing his paperwork, Cath had the night off to see her daughter in the school play and Warrick had taken up residence in the lab to shoot the breeze with Nick. Sara had a solo, but not the kind she wanted, the mayors pet dog was missing presumed stolen. Sara was obviously thrilled about crawling around looking for pet hairs and suspicious dog slobber. High profile...

Sara had yet to return any of Nick's calls and had remarkably not needed to visit the DNA lab all week since Nick had got back to work. Her luck it seemed had finally run out. She'd been looking at the three clear baggies for over an hour, all containing samples of hair. Finally she thought she'd mustered enough courage to walk the fifteen or so steps to get to Greg's lab. She'd managed to catch a glimpse of Nick and Warrick through the clear glass walls before bursting through the door and immediately turning her attention to Greg. She felt a little sick.

"Greg, I need you to take a look at these hair samples, tell me what you think."

Greg was slightly confused…hair samples weren't really his thing, and Nick…whose thing it actually was, was sitting less than two feet away. Damn…this was kind of awkward.

Greg shifted awkwardly in his chair, glancing towards Warrick, who's only help was a rather unhelpful shrug. The slight huff of air that escaped Sara's lips drew Greg's attention back towards her.

"A…Sar…hair? It's a…"

He was saved from any further embarrassment at having to explain himself when Nick's arm stretched between them and plucked the bag from Sara's hand, halting Greg's stuttered pleas.

He didn't look at Sara when he spoke, his attention apparently already focused on the sample in front of him.

"Have a seat, I'll take a look."

That was it; short and to the point. Sara fiddled with the cuffs on her shirt and pulled a chair towards her while Warrick and Greg exited on the pretence of grabbing coffee. Real subtle guys.

Sara watched him unabashedly as he hunch over the microscope. He had lost weight since she'd last seen him, but all other physical indications of his ordeal were gone. The bruises had healed, and there was only a faint trace of a scar that dissected his eyebrow.

Nick stood abruptly from his place at the microscope, a slight wince barely concealed as he put weight on his injured leg. It was still tender and it was only then that Sara noticed a cane propped against the end of the workbench. She mirrored his actions and stood, so they were barely an inch from each other. Despite his abrupt move to stand, Nick had yet to open his mouth, finding himself staring into Sara's eyes in lieu of delivering his results.

If she noticed his lack of animation she didn't mention it. She was pre-occupied with her own examination. His hair had grown out a little, and she stifled a laugh at his almost beetle-esq. hairstyle. The bangs were brushing his forehead a little. He wasn't wearing any wax in it to keep it styled. She smiled as her hand reached involuntarily towards his forehead so she could brush the locks away from his eyes. She was almost as startled as him when her touch propelled them back to reality, causing both to jump back from the other. Nick wincing slightly at the sudden movement.

Sara's face immediately flushed and she was backing towards the door even as the apology tripped from her tongue.

"Sorry…I…I don't know what I was doing…sorry."

Nick stood for a moment, watching her stride down the hallway…without ever hearing his opinion on the dog hairs he'd observed. He reasoned he'd write a report and send it to her later via Greg.

* * *

Grissom's dulcet tones drew Nick back to the present as the aging supervisor popped his head into he lab.

"Greg?"

The question was limited to a single word, but the quirk of the eyebrow completed the sentiment.

"He just stepped out to grab a coffee."

Nick plunged his eyes towards the microscope on the pretence of looking busy and effectively stilting any further conversation. He preyed Grissom wouldn't notice there was no slide to look at.

"Y'know…these things work better if you actually use them to look at something."

Ah…No such luck. Despite the teasing tone, Nick felt the hairs on his neck bristle.

Nick sighed as he straightened in his chair to find Grissom perched awkwardly on the work bench, looking at him intently.

"Did you need something Gris?"

Nick didn't mean to sound so irritated, but it had been a long week and he wasn't sure he needed Grissom and his words of wisdom right now. Not after seeing Sara again anyhow.

"I just wanted to apologise…again…for what happened back at the house. I never should have left you there alone."

Nick's eyes softened, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Like I said, it's fine. Could have happened to anyone. Wasn't your fault."

When Grissom remained where he was, Nick knew this wasn't what he had some to say. He grew impatient of the heavy tension that was threatening to stifle them.

"Gris? Was there something else?"

"I…a…I talked with Brass, he mentioned something to me…I just…"

Grissom trailed off, his eyes focusing on the clock above Nick's head, cursing himself for being so inarticulate. Nick's nostrils flared as he sighed in frustration. He should have known this was coming and opened his mouth to assure Grissom he was fine and didn't want to talk about it, but was cut off when Grissom blurted his question...though in reality it wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact.

"You were abused."

Nicks eyes met his supervisors in disbelief…Grissom fumbled to recover.

"Sorry…I didn't mean to just blurt that out…but…a…you should know that there's a departmental psychiatrist I think you should see…and I'll a…I'll avoid placing you on difficult cases…"

Nick was incredulous.

"You think I can't handle cases when child abuse is involved?"

Grissom flounder, having expected Nick to thank him for making his life easier.

"No…that's not what I'm saying…well actually yes…it probably is…Nick, the Campbell case just proves that you can't deal with sensitive issues like this."

"What…so because I was abused I can't do my job? How many abuse cases you think I've handled since I became a CSI? How many more when I was a cop? I can do my job Grissom. I DO my job, and I do it damn well!"

The volume of the discussion had risen to a dangerous level as Nick became more frustrated. Grissom sighed, trying and failing to keep his own temper in check.

"Nick, you need to take some time, figure out how to deal with whatever happened to you, and I need Csi's who can remain objective. Right now, that's not you."

The charge hit Nick hard, but also served to clear his mind of the fog that had been resting over it for the last two months. He understood now why he didn't tell people, because this was the reaction he would get. Grissom didn't see a CSI anymore, he saw a victim.

Nicks voice was low and quiet when he addressed Grissom again. His eyes forcing Grissom's to look at them.

"It isn't who I am. It doesn't define me. If you have a problem with my abilities to do my job then tell me, but this thing that happened to me, it made me who I am, but it's not all I am. Yeah, I probably got too involved in the case, but I did what I thought was best. If you honestly think that all I am now is an abuse victim then go ahead Gris, toss me the softballs, but we both know I'm a hell of an investigator, and we both know I come here and I work my ass off on every case I get. I'm not a robot, cases get to me, but they get to Sara and Cath and Rick just the same. This doesn't make me special."

Grissom nodded stoically and slipped off the edge of the desk, lips pursed. Nick had given him a lot to think about, but right now he really didn't know what to say. So he did what Jim would instruct him to do, he told the truth.

"You're right Nick."

* * *

The end of his shift couldn't come soon enough and Nick made his way to the locker-room, cane clinking rhythmically at his side. He only had to use it for another three days, and his leg was almost fully healed, but he wasn't going to take a chance, so he was willing to put up with his geriatric accessory for a couple of weeks with only minimal complaint. Cath figured it made him look kinda hot…he didn't buy it…he wasn't broody enough to pull off a good Greg House impression.

Nick almost turned to leave when he pushed the locker-room door open to find Sara getting changed to leave…but he was a big boy, he could handle it. She whipped round to face him when she heard the door. He hadn't expected to see unshed tears in her eyes and couldn't stop concern leaking into his voice.

"You ok Sar?"

She sniffled, embarrassed.

"Yea…Allergies."

He quirked his eyebrow at her. Yeah right. It made her laugh, which instantly lightened his heart.

"Nick…I…I'm sorry I haven't returned your calls…"

"…forget it Sar, it's cool."

He swung his locker door open and shrugged off his lab coat.

"No…I just…I needed some time…to think…about us."

He slammed the door closed with more force than he's intended and spun to face her.

"There's still an us? 'Cause you see I was under the impression that you dumped my ass."

"Nick…please don't, don't be angry with me."

He's right in front of her, but can't stand to look into her eyes anymore. He drops his head, mumbling quietly, no hint of accusation, just the facts.

"You left me."

He flinches when he feels her hand slide over his and squeeze it gently. Her voice is so soft, so warm, but more than that, it sounds scared and uncertain, and so very un-Sara like.

"Nick, don't hate me."

He's defiant now, but still doesn't meet her gaze, even when she tugs at his hand again.

"I don't hate you."

"I just couldn't stand by and watch you self destruct…please Nick, look at me."

He shakes his head stubbornly, like a five year old. Even as he returns the pressure so he's holding her hand as much as she's holding his. He won't look at her.

"I love you Nick."

She doesn't, how could she, if she did she wouldn't have left him.

"YOU LEFT ME."

He's shocked at how loud and crass his voice sounds in the otherwise silent room. He hears her sigh, and sniffle, and then he feels the drop of her tear hitting is hand…and now he knows he's an asshole, because what she did was cruel, but what he did was equal parts stupid. He doesn't bother to tell her not to cry, but lifts his head and leans towards her, brushing his lips gently against hers…and then not so gently as she pulls on his neck to move him closer.

Maybe it would be alright. They break apart long enough for one of them to suggest they go home.

* * *

He laced his hands through her hair and sucked gently on her neck, she'd tell him off in the morning for leaving a mark, he wasn't sure he cared. He gently pushed her onto her back and rested his knees on either side of her hips, stretching to get his t-shirt off over his head, before leaning forwards and taking her lips in his once more. He tugs on her lip, loving how she moans. Her breath hitches as he runs his hand down her hips and across the inside of her thighs. He could feel the heat already. She fumbled with his buckle before sighing in frustration when she couldn't release it.

"Mmmmmphh, can't you just stop wearing belts!"

Her irritation causes her to pout, which cause him to want to do ungodly things to her. He smirks, while readjusting his position to alleviate some pressure on his tender knee. She can see the mirth dancing in his eyes, and that's enough to make her forget her frustration with him…and his belt. He tries unsuccessfully to hold back a smile.

"Well…I could…but then my pants wouldn't stay up, and all the lovely ladies at the lab would lose their jobs 'cause they'd keep getting' distracted by my huge…"

Sara groaned.

"…more show, less tell baby"

Her lips were on his again, as he fumbled with his own belt.

"Hum…I guess I can roll with that."

He extended his hand and pulled her from the couch, leading her towards the bedroom.

* * *

While Sara slept peacefully beside him, Nick contemplated the events of the last few months, heaving a sigh of relief that the worst had passed.

Their peaceful slumber was interrupted as their pagers bleeped simultaneously. Sara reacted first and reached for the bedside table to stop the offending noise.

AMBER ALERT – flashed across the screen and her stomach fell. She flipped her cell open to dial Grissom while observing Nick out of the corner of her eye.

All hands on deck, seven year old Melissa Hunt, missing 13 hours, suspected links to known child abuser.

* * *

Nick was quiet as he shared a ride with Sara to the lab. Finally unable to stand the silence he reached towards the dash and flicked the radio on. He was only half surprised to find Tom Petty's voice floating through the speakers. He nodded his agreement as the lyrics floated round the car, not without significance.

_You keep running to another place to find that saving grace, don't you baby..._

* * *

_AN: A thousand apologies for the late update. This is the final chapter. Thanks to all who read and review, it's been a blast writing this and hearing what people think. There are a few reviewers who have given me consistant encouragement and a special thanks must go to them...I could list them...but they know who they are no doubt. Any final comments are more than welcome. I hope the loose ends are tied up well enough. As for Nick...you have to keep running to another place to find your saving grace. He wants a little absolution for what happened to him, he didn't quite get there with Mikey, maybe with this case he'll get it, but maybe he won't... Thanks again. Take it easy, A_


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